Alone
by SGAFan
Summary: Not your ordinary, every day, trip through the Stargate... at least not for John Sheppard. COMPLETE! Warning: There be Whump here!
1. Chapter 1

_Okay... so... I'm nuts. Didn't I just finish a Whump story? I'm starting another one? I do have other writing projects you know... LOL_

_Bah. As Shep would say (and he does say it in this chapter) "Aw, hell!" ;) Chatper 1..._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

_**Alone**_

**----------------------------------------------**_**  
**_

**_Whoever said anybody has a right to give up?_**

_Marian Wright Edelman_

---------------------------------------

"Carrot?"

"Nope. I said 'animal', McKay," Ronon answered.

Sometimes, John pondered as he walked through the short grass and away from the Stargate on M55-912, he wondered about the almost quirky nature of his team's relationship. He didn't think he knew of many Earth military teams that would engage in game of 'Animal/Vegetable/Mineral' crossed with 'Twenty Questions' as they proceeded on a mission off-world.

_Okay, so just how many of them actually go__** off-world**_ He decided that really wasn't the point. From the brief encounters he'd had with General O'Neill he suspected the General might have done something similar in his 'Colonel goes through the Stargate' days, but beyond that?

"It's **orange**!" Rodney protested. "I don't know of any orange animals!"

"What about Garfield?" John threw the comment over his shoulder and refused to acknowledge the deeply annoyed stare he just knew was coming from Rodney, and was most likely bulls-eyed on his back.

"Hilarious," Rodney snapped, "since you're so smart, you answer!"

"I'm not the one playing this game," John retorted. He glanced at Teyla's amused expression as she walked next to him and quirked his eyebrows playfully, before looking up and taking a moment to admire the large, fluffy clouds that stood out in stark contrast to the dark blue sky. His gaze followed them to the ominous dark ones on the horizon. "Better make this trip short," he commented noting Teyla's nod in agreement.

"Fine!" Rodney's tone of voice was an interesting cross between annoyed and exasperated. "I give up. What is it?"

"A Warat," Ronon answered with a small smile.

Puzzled and not just a little bit curious, John stopped and looked back at the big runner. "Huh?"

"What the hell is a Warat?" Rodney protested before waving his hand vigorously. "Never mind! The rules of the game clearly state that you can only pick something that we **all **know! I have no idea what a Warat is!"

"Had one when I was a kid," Ronon answered, the hint of a smile wrinkling his eyes. "Thought I'd mentioned it…" he turned and continued walking down the path.

"No!" Rodney's voice cracked. He stared after Ronon for a moment before cocking his head slightly and trotting to catch up. "What, exactly is it?"

John chuckled quietly, and glanced at Teyla who was also laughing under her breath, before they both followed behind Ronon and Rodney.

"Pet. Four legs, makes noise when danger is around, protects you and is loyal. Sort of like your dogs."

"An **orange** dog?" Rodney made a face.

John stepped around Ronon and took point again. "Okay, enough of the zoology lesson. McKay? The database said this planet was inhabited. Picking up anything?" He looked back as Rodney pulled out his Life Signs Detector and lightly tapped a couple buttons.

Rodney nodded. "One life sign," without looking up, he pointed off towards the tree line that bordered the field they were in. "There." Rodney's eyes narrowed. "Faint…though."

John's gaze followed Rodney's gesture. "Edge of range?"

Rodney shrugged. "Maybe."

John sighed and looked down. "Path's well worn." He nodded once. "Okay, let's take a look." He walked off towards the tree line, his team following behind.

All thoughts of the game were put aside as he focused on the task at hand; his senses sharpening as they always did on a mission with so many unknowns. Was the brief life sign even human? Were the humans here friendly? They'd encountered their fair share of hostile human races in Pegasus and John really hoped this wouldn't be another one. He listened for a second to Teyla's light footsteps behind him, and Ronon's heavier ones further back. Still, they'd met a few friends here too.

John slowed his pace as he started into the woods. His grip tightened slightly on his P-90 as he expectantly looked back at Rodney.

Rodney gestured to John's left. "That way. Twenty meters… wait. It's gone"

John stopped. "Gone?" He looked back at McKay. "Are you picking up anything at all?"

"No," Rodney shook his head as he stared at the detector. "Nothing. At least it's not some sort of ambush…"

John nodded once and looked at Ronon who wordlessly joined him. Slowly, he walked next to the big runner and through the trees as they approached the last location of the life form. Suddenly, John froze in his tracks as one minute he was working his way through the trees, and the next he was staring down at the motionless form of a young boy. "Oh man," he lowered his gun and quickly walked up to the boy before kneeling and pressing his fingers into the child's throat, but he knew he was too late; McKay's detector had confirmed that. Staring at the boy's lifeless blue eyes and feeling the unnatural bulge of displaced bones in the child's neck, only confirmed his suspicions. John's shoulders sagged and he shook his head, silently conveying his findings to his team members. He pulled his hand away from the boy's neck and passed his fingers lightly over the dead child's eyelids, closing them. "Damn it," he muttered.

"Oh no," Rodney added quietly.

"Probably fell from the tree," Ronon looked up the length of the massive tree that shadowed them, before looking back down. "Broke his neck?"

John nodded. "Yeah." He felt a strong gust of wind ruffle his hair and lift his collar. He looked up, noticing the sunlight fade away. "Weather's blowin' in."

"Colonel, we cannot just leave this boy here. We must return him to his people." Teyla sighed. "He is young. His village must not be far."

John glanced at her before looking away. He felt the cold wind again and could see the hint of dark clouds through the trees. If they high tailed it, they probably could beat the weather back to the Stargate, but the boy… He thought about the boy's body lying untended in the rain, and about the child's parents… "Yeah." He looked at Rodney. "Any idea where the village is?"

Rodney pulled out his scanner again. "Life signs, just west of here, about a mile… Wait… another group moving this way."

"It is possible they are looking for the boy," Teyla said, "we may be able to intercept them."

John nodded. He pushed aside his P-90 and slipped his arms under the boy's body. He pressed his lips together and ignored the limp, lifelessness that greeted his grip and slowly lifted, before gently settling the boy's head against his shoulder. Sparing a quick glance at his team, he started west. "Let's go."

They'd only been walking for a few minutes when he felt Ronon's hand on his arm. At the same time, Teyla spoke.

"Colonel, we are not alone." Teyla's voice was low, but confident.

John stopped in his tracks. "Where?"

Ronon motioned slightly with his head. "Straight ahead."

"I'm reading about twenty-five of them," Rodney added. "Hope they're friendly…"

"If they're not, we'll know soon enough," John quipped darkly.

"Come out!" Teyla shouted. "We are peaceful explorers. We will not hurt you. We only wish to return this boy to his people." She gestured at the child in John's arms.

John slowly knelt and placed the boy's body on the ground, before he stood and backed up a step. Slowly and subtly, his hands drifted to his P-90 which he held tightly to, his index finger hovering close to the safety. The woods were quiet… too quiet for his liking. The natives were taking their time coming out, and that did nothing to bolster his confidence. "McKay, stay behind me."

"You don't think…" Rodney started.

John spared a brief, intense glare for Rodney who got the point.

"Right. Shutting up," Rodney added.

"Sheppard."

Ronon's voice grabbed John's attention and he looked forward again, in time to see a lone man suddenly appear. He seemed to materialize from nowhere, proving that these people at least knew how to conceal themselves. "Nice camouflage," John commented.

Ronon grunted. "May not be able to avoid culling ships and scanners, but bet they hide well from Wraith on foot."

John eyed the long spear the man confidently and adeptly carried from the smoothly cut bottom, to the jagged, stone point on the top, and grimaced slightly. "Probably defend themselves pretty good too." He turned his head slightly. "McKay?"

"Still about twenty-five, but they're spreading out in a semi-circle," Rodney answered.

"Moving to flank us?" John glanced at Ronon, who nodded.

"It's what I'd do," Ronon answered simply.

"Perhaps they are being cautious," Teyla ventured. "I do not believe we should assume them to be hostile… yet."

John nodded. "Always the optimist." He sighed deeply and tried to pull on the most trusting expression he could and took a step forward. "Hi." He flinched, barely keeping from raising his P-90 as the man jumped back and into a defensive position, his spear held threateningly.

"Sheppard."

Ronon growled a warning but John, never taking his eyes off the native, waved his hand back at the ex-Runner. "Hold on. Keep that thing holstered or this'll get ugly really fast." He waved his hand again for emphasis at Ronon's half growl, half sigh response.

John stood rock still, locked in a gaze with the native. For a few minutes, neither of them moved. Again, the cold wind blasted him, its presence almost foreboding.

"Oh, well, this is productive," Rodney snapped quietly.

John didn't have to say anything as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Teyla elbow Rodney and shush him. _Aw hell, this is nuts!_ Forcing himself to let go of his P-90, John slowly lifted his hands. "We don't want any trouble, we just wanted to bring the boy back to you. He had an accident. We found him."

The native man's stance relaxed slightly, but he still held his spear high. "Cava nun tor?"

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes in frustration. "Either of you recognize the language or better yet, speak it?" He directed his question at Ronon and Teyla.

"No," Ronon's reply was curt.

"I do not either, Colonel," Teyla answered.

"Oh wonderful," Rodney's whisper was nearly a hiss, "how do we explain the dead boy? Because somehow I don't think he's in the mood for a game of Charades!"

John ignored the barb. "I'm working on it…" his voice trailed off as the native man slowly walked towards him. "Oh, here we go." He forced a strained, small smile to his face, trying to find the balance between looking friendly and yet, not looking happy in the presence of the dead youth. He distinctly felt like he was failing at both.

Barely ten feet away, the man motioned at John with his spear. "Naka! Naka!"

"I believe he wishes you to back away, Colonel," Teyla whispered.

John nodded slightly. It made sense. He stared the native man in the eye and backed away a few steps.

The man slowly knelt and passed a hand over the boy's face. For a moment his expression turned tragic and hurt, before he looked up.

John stiffened, his adrenaline spiking as anger and hate fell over the man's expression like a dark veil. "Whoa," John shook his head and raised his hands again, "we didn't do this. Really!"

The man's lips parted in a sneer. "Eaka!" He turned and started yelling loudly, his words meaning nothing to John, but his tone and body language meaning everything. "Crap. Time to go." He turned and pushed Rodney ahead of him. "Move!" He hissed. The words no more than left his mouth, before an arrow breezed out of nowhere and scraped across his thigh, leaving searing pain behind it. John stumbled hard, only to be caught by Ronon. He pulled his arm free and continued forward. "I'm okay, just a graze." He gestured at Ronon's blaster. "Keep that thing on stun." He looked up as Teyla led them through the trees. "Teyla! Wound only if you can!"

"They're trying to kill us!" Rodney shouted in disbelief.

"They don't understand!" John shot back as he pushed a branch out of his way and forced himself to run. "I don't want to kill any of them unless we have no choice!"

They no sooner cleared the trees, when the clouds opened up, dumping a hard rain on them. In the distance, thunder rumbled and the wind seemed to pick up even more.

"Shot at **and** bad weather," John groused as he kept running, "just isn't my day!"

"Thanks for bringing us all down with you!" Rodney shot back over his shoulder.

John didn't have a chance to reply as an arrow sung overhead before landing in the dirt just in front of him. "Whoa!"

John turned and fired his P-90 as the sound or Ronon's blaster joining the chorus. He stopped firing as natives burst through the trees at a dead run. He smacked Ronon on the arm. "That's it, no more time. Go!" John fired a few more rounds, scattering the dirt at the feet of the lead runners and causing them to stumble and fall in surprise, before he turned and ran after his team. He looked ahead. "Teyla! McKay! Keep going! Get that Gate dialed and the shield down! Ronon and I will try to slow our friends!" He could feel the blood soaking his pant leg but tuned out the pain as he drove himself to run faster. Ronon ran right beside him, and he knew the big runner was watching to make sure he kept up okay, but he didn't bother to comment on it.

Again, John stopped and fired back at the natives, trying buy his team some time. Ronon was right there, shoulder to shoulder and fighting with him, not that he'd expect anything else.

"Colonel! We are almost to the…" Teyla's voice trailed off into a scream.

John whipped around, his eyes widening as Teyla crumpled to the ground, a long arrow protruding from her side. "Teyla! McKay, grab her and get to the gate!" John turned back, cold clarity settling over him. He lifted his P-90 and sent several shots into the closest pursuing native. The man dropped like a stone.

John caught a brief glance of approval from Ronon before they both turned and ran after Teyla and Rodney. In the distance, he could barely see Rodney, holding Teyla up while he dialed the DHD. "Get over there and cover them. Then get though the gate. I'll try to keep them off our backs."

"Sheppard, your leg. I should…"

John fixed Ronon with the most commanding glare he could muster. "Go! That's an order!"

Ronon looked on the verge of protesting but he nodded once and took off towards the gate.

John followed him for a dozen steps before stopping and again firing on the natives. Two more went down from his bullets and three more arrows sung past him. He took a brief moment to thank the rain for bad visibility and the gusty winds that threw off the aim of their archers. The one that had got Teyla had been a lucky shot. His P-90 was slightly more accurate and the laser sight helped as well, but still, he missed more than he hit. That really wasn't the point though. Whatever slowed them down was good enough for him. Again, he felt blood soak his leg, the warmth creeping downward to blend in with his cold, rain drenched pants.

He ran again, nearing the Stargate and nodding to himself as Rodney, with Teyla leaning heavily on him, disappeared through the wormhole. Thunder crackled around him and the bright lightening illuminated the area around the gate for an instant, and as it faded he could see the shadow of Ronon, waiting just in front of the event horizon. He waved a hand. "Go! I'm right behind you!" John stopped, turned and fired. "Ronon!" He shouted. "Now!" As he turned back, he saw Ronon disappear through the gate and again nodded to himself. His team was safe and that was the single most important thing to him.

As he approached the gate, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up and the air around him seemed to come alive with electricity. Instantly, it triggered a brief snippet of memory of his grandmother Eunice…

_Some people, Johnny, can sense when lightening will strike. It's like pins and needles and the air around you is charged…_

Dread swept through him. He'd never sensed it before, but was convinced he was about to get up close and personal with Ben Franklin's kite killer. The event horizon was right before him and he leapt, just as he felt the electricity around him come to life.

The blurs of the wormhole filled his vision for an instant before he felt himself rematerialize and get propelled from the wormhole. Briefly, he pondered on how much the hard Atlantis floor was going to hurt when he landed, but all thoughts were dismissed as instead of unforgiving deck plates, he landed face first in cold mud. John lifted his head and spat, clearing his mouth of mud before shaking it off his face and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "What the hell?" Could he somehow have doubled back to M55-912? He scrambled for his gun before realizing three things. One, it was colder… a lot colder. Two, there was no storm, only a light mix of snow and rain falling quietly but still drenching him, and three, the gate and he were perched on a steep, cone shaped, hill with jagged sides. It was as if it had been some sort of plateau at one time, only to have fallen victim to a geological disaster.

_No. Definitely not M55-912._ He pushed himself up and looked around. "McKay? Teyla? Ronon?" _McKay, I swear, if you misdialed…_ but he immediately knew he was wrong. If they had come to this planet before him, they'd be right there with him, and they weren't. Deep in his gut, he knew he was alone. He couldn't explain it, had no clue how they got separated, only that they were and that he was alone.

Cold wind drove straight through his wet clothes and chilled him to the bone. "Nice planet, great weather, but forgive me if I don't stay…" He sat up, wincing at the pain from his thigh and looked in a circle around him. "Or maybe I will…" He had almost everything he needed to get home; a Stargate, a GDO...

The only thing that was missing was, next to the Stargate, the one thing he needed most.

A DHD.

"Aw hell."


	2. Chapter 2

_For those of you who commented that this is like SG1's "Solitudes", you're right. I drew on the science from that, while throwing in a twist of my own. :)_

_Thanks so much for all the encouraging reviews! You've motivated me to crank out chapter 2 :D_

-------------------

Ronon stumbled hard as he exited the wormhole into the Atlantis Gate room, but caught himself immediately. He spun, simultaneously bringing up his gun and focusing on the active Stargate; ready to cover Sheppard's retreat. His gaze narrowed, gun never wavering as the wormhole flickered an instant before it disconnected. He lowered his gun, shocked for a moment before he ground his teeth hard and resisted the urge to yell. He turned quickly away from the gate and helped McKay lower Teyla to the floor as a medical team, headed by Beckett, quickly entered the gate room. Ronon backed away, making room for Beckett as the doctor knelt next to the now semi-conscious, Teyla.

"Easy, love," Beckett spoke quietly while he quickly worked over Teyla, "we'll get ye fixed up in a jiffy."

Ronon's attention turned to Weir who trotted down the Gate room stairs. She stopped, apparently trying to take in all the activity around her. "Teyla?" She looked around again. "Colonel Sheppard?" 

"He didn't make it," Ronon growled, not bothering to hide his frustration. "Gotta go back."

"And now," Rodney stalked over to join Ronon. "He's in trouble!"

Ronon's gaze narrowed as Weir glanced at Teyla who was being moved to a stretcher, before she looked back at him. "What happened?" 

"Less than friendly natives. They think we killed one of their children. We found the boy dead in the woods!"

"And you told them this?"

McKay's expression turned annoyed. "Small problem of a language barrier."

Weir shook her head and tapped her headset. "Chuck, order a MALP down here immediately."

Ronon took a step closer to her. "We need to go… now." He held his gaze intent but part of him felt a level of respect as Weir returned his intense stare with a strong one of her own.

"We have no idea what the situation is on the other side of that wormhole. I'm not sending any of you through until I know, at the very least, you're not walking directly into an ambush." She sighed deeply. "Sheppard would agree. You know that."

Ronon clenched his jaw hard, biting off a response and abruptly turned away, slamming his gun back into its holster. She was right, he knew it, but that didn't mean he liked it. He'd resisted leaving Sheppard behind; finally bowing to the colonel's orders and now he was feeling every bit of that decision.

Behind him, he heard Weir's voice again.

"Carson? Teyla?" she asked quietly.

Ronon turned back, concern momentarily edging out his frustration.

Beckett held an IV high as his medical team pushed Teyla's gurney towards the east door. "I'll know more later. Right now we need to get her to surgery, get this thing out of her and assess the damage." 

Weir nodded. "Keep me posted."

"Aye," Beckett threw the response back over his shoulder as he and his team hurried from the Gate room.

The west door opened, admitting a technician who was quickly piloting a MALP into the Gate room. Weir looked up at the control deck. "Chuck, dial M55-912." She headed for the Gate room stairs, Ronon and Rodney right behind her.

Ronon stood behind one of the many laptops, his hand settling on the grip of his blaster as the wormhole flushed into existence and the technician remotely steered the MALP through. He took one step back as McKay edged his way in and sat down in front of the laptop, immediately punching in commands on the keyboard.

Ronon stared at the laptop screen as the static was replaced with an image. He felt, more than saw, Weir come up next to him.

"Still dark and raining," McKay commented. "Switching to infrared. Stand by."

Completely unfamiliar with what he was seeing and growing more frustrated by the minute, Ronon took a step closer to Rodney and leaned over his shoulder. "Sheppard?"

McKay's sigh was deep and loud. "No sign of him. No life forms near the gate. Looks like the natives left."

"If Sheppard didn't make it through the gate…" Weir's voice trailed off.

"Then the natives captured him." Ronon turned towards the stairs. "We have to go. Now."

"Wait!" McKay turned.

"McKay,' Ronon growled. He glared coldly at the doctor.

McKay's expression turned acerbic. "Look, I want to find Sheppard as much as you, but charging off into the unknown isn't the way to do it." He turned back and tapped a few keys on the lap top.

Ronon's gaze narrowed as McKay's back stiffened.

"What the hell?" McKay uttered under his breath.

Ronon stalked back even as Weir beat him to the obvious question.

"Rodney? What is it? What's wrong?"

"I'm not picking up Sheppard's sub-cutaneous transmitter," McKay's voice was puzzled. "That doesn't make any sense." 

"Could he be out of range?" Weir asked, arching a brow at McKay's snort.

"Hardly. The Daedalus can pick up those transmitter signals from orbit. He'd have to be on the other side of the planet for us not to detect the signal. Somehow I don't think our cave man friends can get that far, this fast."

"Could something have happened to it?" Weir questioned.

"Not likely," McKay's tone was more even. "Its sub-q, so it's not like those primitive spear-throwers could take it from him. They won't even know it's there, in fact." Rodney looked back to the laptop his gaze narrowing. "He's not there." 

"How could he **not** be there?" Ronon snapped.

"I don't know," McKay sighed.

Ronon felt his anger surge. "McKay!"

McKay spun in his chair and glared at Ronon. "I don't know! Yelling at me won't change that! All I can tell you is, as crazy as it sounds, he's not there. It's the only other logical explanation. Now stop bothering me so I can figure this out!" Without another word he turned back and started typing commands, his hands flying over the keyboard.

Ronon turned his attention to Weir. "We should still send a team." He held her gaze as she stared a long moment at him, obviously considering his words.

Weir turned back to McKay. "You're **sure** he's not on the planet?"

McKay looked up, but stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. "Yes, I'm sure! His sub-q transmitter would be sending a signal if he was there. Period."

"Rodney, where else could he be?" Weir insisted. "If he made it through the gate, he'd be **here.**"

"I know it…"McKay's voice trailed off as he abruptly stood, his back stiffening and gaze turning shocked. "Can't be…"

Ronon walked up next to McKay, Weir right with him.

"Rodney?" Weir stared at his face. "What are you thinking?"

McKay spun, snapping his fingers at Chuck. "Switch to thermal imaging, now!" He sat and typed another string of fast commands on the laptop.

"Rodney?" Weir insisted.

McKay never looked up. "There was a lot of lightning... if a bolt struck the gate…"

Ronon's patience snapped. "McKay!" he barked.

McKay stared hard at him. "If what I'm thinking happened, happened, then we've got a problem… or rather, he does..." He started typing commands again on the laptop.

Ronon looked over McKay's shoulder and resisted the urge to wring the answer out of him.

"What am I seeing?" Weir demanded.

"A thermal scan of the gate," McKay answered. "It's still 'hot'." He abruptly pushed back from the computer and stood. "I need to go back. Now."

"'bout time," Ronon muttered.

"Hold on," Weir insisted. "No one is going anywhere until you explain what is going on."

McKay sighed loudly. "A few years back… okay **several** years back a Stargate in the Milky Way was hit by energy weapons fire, just as Colonel O'Neill and, then Captain, Carter went through it. The massive spike of energy caused the wormhole to jump from the SGC gate to the then unknown Antarctic gate and they ended up there."

"Wait," Weir raised her hand. "Are you saying that you think this happened to Colonel Sheppard?" 

"Yes!" McKay's tone was slightly exasperated. "A bolt of lightning carries massive amounts of energy. If it hit the gate while it was active, then it's very likely the same thing happened."

"But this planet doesn't have another gate," Weir stated.

"I know, but it's very possible he could've jumped to another gate on a different planet," Rodney insisted. "Probably one that's close by… in galactic terms anyway. Colonel Carter theorized that the jump couldn't go far."

"Why didn't he just dial back here?" Ronon asked. Part of him felt slightly insecure as he ventured into the technical science that McKay seemed to take to naturally, but he hid it.

"Who knows?" McKay threw his hands in the air. "Maybe he's injured, maybe the DHD is disabled. I don't know. All I **do **know is that I need to get back to that planet," he pointed at the active Stargate, "and take some readings so I can **prove** what happened!"

Ronon switched his gaze to Weir who quietly considered McKay's words for a moment, before nodding curtly. "Go." She looked at Ronon, "take the Marines in the Gate room with you."

Ronon returned her nod and swiftly turned, heading back towards the stairs, Rodney hot on his heels.

-----------------------------------

John hissed in pain as he flexed his injured leg in an attempt to stand up. "Great," he muttered. "DHD would be helpful…" He winced again, but forced his sore leg to comply and slowly stood. He shook his hands hard, losing the worst of the mud in clumps that splattered to the ground. He looked up, keenly feeling the cold rain drops and occasional wet snowflake that lightly hit his face. He suppressed a chilled shiver and slowly walked away from the gate towards the edge of the plateau. Gazing over the edge, he winced at the steep decline and jagged rocks. Free-climbing down from here, with no gear, was not the first thing he wanted to do, but as he slowly limped around the entire circumference of the plateau, he began to realize he might not have a choice. He stopped and stared at the distant cliff, marking the edge of what he assumed was the mainland and shook his head longingly. "Bet I'd do fine over there," he muttered. He looked down again. Whatever stranded the Stargate, and now him, must've been one hell of a geological event. It was amazing that the gate still stood and was still functional. He sighed. Whatever and whenever it happened, it must've taken the DHD with it.

Again, a cold chill ran through him and his teeth chattered slightly in response. He was drenched and it was cold and wet with a little snow to boot. The conditions couldn't be more perfect for hypothermia. Clarity washed over him. It would take his team time to find him; hell, he didn't even have a clue where he was. He knew they'd come, but it could be a while. There was no way, in his current condition and with the small survival kit he had, that he could survive up here. He had to find shelter from the weather, make a fire and dry out.

His leg throbbed and he looked down, wincing at the mud that mixed with blood which was still slowly oozing from the wound. _And get that clean…_

He sighed. All the sudden, the free-climb down was looking like his only option. Somehow, somewhere, he had to find shelter. He looked up again, feeling the direction of the wind before going to the lee side of the plateau. If he was going to find shelter, it'd help to be sheltered from the wind. John looked down the side of the decline, smiling slightly as he spotted an outcropping about fifty feet down. It almost resembled a natural path, and it seemed to circle for a ways around the plateau. If he could get to it, he might find a small cave, or outcropping that could shelter him from the rain. Anything was better than here. He took a deep, fortifying breath. If he was going to do this, he'd better do it now, before his leg stiffened even more and the cold sapped his strength. Unclipping his P-90 from the front of his vest, he lifted it over his shoulder and clipped it into the clamp on the left shoulder of his TAC vest, allowing it to hang over his back. It was awkward; the gun didn't lie flat, but it was far better than having it hinder his ability to climb by being in front. Part of him thought he should wait there, brave the cold and hope his team arrived soon, but the rest of him dismissed the idea. In his gut, he knew it would take them a while… a lot longer than he'd survive on this plateau.

Kneeling, John found good hand holds before carefully easing his legs over the edge. He barked his wound more than once, but managed to turn out the pain and concentrate on the task at hand. Slowly, he descended the steep wall, carefully moving from one hand or foot hold to another.

After several minutes of careful climbing he paused to catch his breath, before slowly looking below him. He smiled. The outcropping was only about twenty feet further and as he got closer, the prospects of finding shelter looked better and better. The rock face was jagged and uneven; geologically young, and that might help him. If he could find a small, natural cave, he'd be in business. There, he could rest, build a fire and get warm. Confident in his left hand hold, John pulled his right hand away and blew on nearly numb, cold fingers. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it fast, because the cold was slowly but steadily eating away at his strength. He returned his slightly warmed right hand to the rocks and resumed his descent, but as he reached for the next hand hold, the numbness that almost instantly returned to his fingers caught up with him. His hand slipped and his reflexes, slowed by the cold, couldn't react in time. His scrambling was futile as the slick rocks and wet dirt under his hands and feet failed him. Dread gripped him as he felt himself fall.

--------------------------------------

Elizabeth hurried across the Gate room as her team returned from M55-912. She reached out, stopping Rodney as he tried to hurry past her. "What did you find?" Her gaze narrowed as he stared intently at her.

"I was right," he answered. "Lightning struck the gate. The wormhole must've jumped, taking Sheppard with it."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, sickening worry consuming her for a moment, before she pushed it back. She opened her eyes and gave Rodney a very direct look. "What's the next step?"

Rodney sighed and started towards the stairs again talking to Elizabeth as she followed. "I don't know, not yet. If Colonel Carter's theory is right, he's close by… well close in galactic terms; probably in one of the neighboring solar systems."

Elizabeth nodded. "We'll assume Colonel Carter is right and start dialing the closest planets then work our way out from there."

"It's not that easy," Rodney countered as he entered the control room. "Because of the proximity to Atlantis, this sector of the galaxy was once very heavily populated. We're talking a lot of planets and Stargates here."

Elizabeth stopped and rested her hands on his control panel as Rodney sat and opened his laptop. "Do we have an alternative?"

Rodney paused a moment and looked up, his expression resigned. "Not really, no."

Elizabeth nodded once at him, fortifying her expression with confidence. "Access the database. Start with the closest planets with gates." She turned and looked at the gate technician. "Chuck, get some MALPs in here. I want to send one to each planet. We'll retrieve them later. Unless forced to, Colonel Sheppard won't wander far from the gate; he knows we'll be coming for him. But, I want MALP telemetry and scans for his transmitter performed on each planet."

"Yes, ma'am," Chuck responded before turning back to his console.

Elizabeth looked up, finally noticing Ronon, who was uncharacteristically quiet. She gave him a thin smile. "We'll find him."

"Should've never left him," Ronon muttered.

Elizabeth was silent for a moment as she noted the slight hint of guilt Ronon had in his expression in spite of his normally effective emotional mask. "Then both of you would be lost and we'd be no better off," she answered quietly. "We'll find him," she repeated but even as the words left her mouth, she saw the same glimmer of doubt in his expression as she knew he saw in hers. It was a big galaxy. The fact that John hadn't dialed in yet, spoke volumes to her. Something was terribly wrong. In her gut she knew it.

----------------------------

The first thing he became aware of was the wet, soft caress of the rain and snow on his cheek. As consciousness came back to him, John drew in a careful breath, before coughing weakly at the mud in his nose and mouth. He inhaled sharply and groaned as his ribs protested loudly in response. John opened his eyes and blinked hard, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind so he could think clearly. _Ribs… couple broken…_ Carefully, he moved first one arm, then the other, relieved to find them uninjured, for the most part. Slowly, he placed his palms flat in the mud and carefully pushed himself up. It was at that point that he froze, his body paralyzed by searing pain from his left leg. With a strangled cry, he flopped back down in the mud, all ability for rational thought fleeing the onslaught of pain that swept through him. He held as still as possible, fighting to breathe through the pain for several minutes before it finally ebbed. "Oh yeah," he croaked to himself, "broken."

He was pretty sure both femurs and his right tib/fib were uninjured but was also equally as certain that his left tib/fib was broken. "Shit," he muttered. He thought he had it bad before, but now he'd pretty much lost all mobility; something that could be a death sentence if he didn't find some way to shelter himself. He felt his teeth chatter and that sent a strong sense of urgency through him. Broken leg or not, he had to move, had to find shelter. Period. Gritting his teeth, John once again pulled himself up, this time bending his right leg and turning over. He tried in vain to carefully hold his broken leg as still as possible, but as he moved, the broken bones jarred, ripping a hoarse cry from him. He flopped down ungracefully on his back, barely noticing the P-90 jab him, and laid there for a moment, trying to get control of the pain while at the same time, fighting off the blackness that crept in on the edges of his vision. _No passing out!_ He sucked in a determined breath and sat up before looking down at his leg.

John winced at the unnatural angle of the bones. By himself, there was no way in hell he could set it, but at least he could immobilize and support the limb and try to cut down on the damage as much as possible. Reaching behind him, he unclipped his P-90 and set it next to him, before pulling a roll of sturdy tape from his TAC vest. Ironically enough, the P-90 was the only thing even remotely suitable for a splint. Two splints would've been better and, if he was lucky, he'd find something to replace the gun in that role, but for now, it'd have to do.

Positioning the gun, he quickly secured it, before sitting back and admiring his handy work. In spite of the pain, the cold and the downright crappy situation he found himself in, John couldn't help but chuckle as he stared at the gun, now a split, that braced his broken bones. "Hope the safety's on…" he chucked again, the sound cynical and slightly desperate in tone and the action jarring his broken ribs. He groaned and stifled his odd humor. John looked around for a second, quickly taking stock of his situation. Walking was out of the question. He had nothing that could serve as a crutch, and the ledge was too narrow to be messing with trying to stand. Besides, the last thing he needed was to fall again. _Crawl it is... _he carefully turned over again and using his hands and his good leg, he slowly scooted along the ledge, searching for some sort of shelter.

Each movement jarred his ribs and sent waves of nearly agonizing pain from his broken leg but he knew he couldn't stop. In spite of the cold, a sweat broke out on his brow, instantly cooling against the cold air and only chilled him more. "Come… on…" he hissed through clenched teeth, and dug his fingers into the mud again, "something… anything…" He paused, his eyes fixing on a smooth indentation in the rocks and even in the face of the pain that swarmed him, he found a small smile. Fixing his gaze on the cave, he slowly but doggedly worked his way to it. Stopping at the entrance, he looked around for a moment. It was small, barely more than an indentation in the side of the cliff, but it was shelter. The edges were smooth, the ground inside was dry and it was big enough for him to light a fire… if barely. Slowly, he crawled inside. It was far from being big enough to stand in, but somehow he didn't really think he'd be standing any time soon. He pushed himself against back wall, which comforted him. The last thing he needed was to encounter something else taking refuge there. Pulling himself a little further in, he collapsed in exhaustion. Absent of rain and wind the small cave had the illusion of warmth and that comforted him. This time, he couldn't fight the darkness that pushed at his consciousness. Succumbing to exhaustion, he let the darkness take him.


	3. Chapter 3

_There is a slight modification to the end of chapter 2. Nothing about the story has changed, just a slight change to the type of shelter he found. I err… wrote myself into an impossible corner and had to make a teensy adjustment. G _

_Once again, the reviews have been wonderful. Thank you so much for your support. Sorry it's taken me a while to get this chapter written, I've been doing my cold weather survival homework ;)_

_Hope the chapter works. nervous look It's very hard to write a lot of description, void of dialog or any significant action and still keep it interesting. ;)_

-------------------------------------------------------

"_Give up and you'll die!"_

He jerked awake, panting slightly as he looked around and got his bearings. John grunted as pain flooded his body. He closed his eyes and took one deep breath, then another, riding the waves of pain until they broke on the shore of his consciousness. Finally, he felt confident enough to open his eyes. Slowly, he pushed himself up on his hands and looked around, taking stock of his situation. Bad was the first word that came to him, but he forced it aside. If there was one thing that had been grilled into him in Basic it was that no matter how good your skills were, you had to have determination in order to survive. Period. He inhaled as deeply as his broken ribs and chattering teeth would let him and rolled over into a sitting position. He looked outside, noticing the evening twilight. His gaze narrowed as he watched the snowflakes fall. The rain was gone as the fading day temperatures dropped. He swallowed and tried in vain to stop his chattering teeth. "N-not…g-good…" he muttered to himself. With the temperature dropping and his clothing still wet and clinging to him, fire was becoming an urgent need.

Reaching behind his back, he grabbed his canteen, unscrewed the lid and took one good sized drink, resisting the urge to drain it in his thirst. He tightened the cap and set it aside before he shrugged out of his TAC vest and started rummaging through the pockets.

Like any standard military issue, the TAC vest not only held ammo and explosives but also a variety of survival items in case of just such an emergency. He stuck his hand into one back pocket and pulled out two trioxane fuel bars and set them nearby. They'd only burn for about 10 to 15 minutes but it was a start. If he could find some fuel to sustain a fire longer, he had a good chance of not only warming up, but of drying his clothes as well. Items 1 and 2 on his 'Must do in Order to Survive,' list. He dug around in another pocket and produced a Swiss Army Knife and his fire starter.

John tensed and grunted as another spasm of pain shot up from his broken leg, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He set the TAC vest aside and reached down, carefully extracting the flashlight on his P-90 from his tightly bound splint. He flicked on the light and looked around. "Thought I saw…" his voice trailed off into a smile. When he'd crawled into the cave he'd seen greenish colored vines growing on the outside of the rocks. He'd hoped they'd grown through the rocks and that some might be inside and nodded in satisfaction as he spotted several thick, vines hanging from the side of the cave. Carefully scooting towards them, John pulled on one experimentally. It was dense, heavy and to his relief, totally dry. He pulled a little harder, but the vine and its nearby dead cohorts were lodged firmly into the rock. John held tightly to the vine with his left hand, put the end of the flashlight in his mouth and reached back with his right, grabbing his knife from its sheath. He quickly cut several vines before taking the flashlight out of his mouth and carefully scooting back to where his supplies laid. He poked around the edges of the cave and found several small pieces of the cave wall that had broken away over time. Grouping them together, he built himself a decent sized fire circle and in the middle he placed one of the fuel bars.

Forcing his numb fingers to work, he carefully cut the vines into smaller pieces, suitable for his fire circle before he grabbed his fire starter and lit the fuel bar. After a moment, a soft blue flame burst from the center and he could instantly feel the small shaft of warmth it gave off. John brought his hands as close to the flame as he could stand and rubbed them together vigorously for a moment, before he grabbed a couple of his small vine pieces and carefully tented them around the flame. Blowing gently, he encouraged the flame to grow. He blew again, watching as the edges of the flame licked the sides of the vines before they started smoking. Encouragement beat back the pain in his body and he smiled slightly before carefully blowing again. He grinned as the dried vines ignited. "That's more like it," he encouraged the little fire and before long, he was comforted by the orange flames and crackles of the burning vines. The cave was small, but the opening to the outside was large; more than big enough to ventilate the smoke from his modest fire.

John fed a few more pieces of the vines to the fire before he sat back and once again grabbed his TAC vest. Digging around in one of the back pockets, he pulled out a small, rectangular item, no bigger than a credit card. He stared at it a moment, shaking his head slightly before he opened the plastic surrounding it and shook the compressed material open into a large, Mylar, blanket. It still amazed him that a blanket could fold down into something that small, but right now he was just glad to have it.

John unzipped his coat, fighting his instinct to keep all of his clothes around him and shrugged out of the wet garment. He twisted slightly, hissing as his ribs protested before he slowly spread the coat out against the wall of the cave, close enough to the fire that it would dry in time. He did the same with his tee shirt then wrapped the blanket around his bare torso. John looked down at his wet pants and sighed. With his leg the way it was, he doubted he could get them off… or back on for that matter. He'd have to settle for them drying on him. Satisfied that items 1 and 2 of his survival list were satisfied, he turned to item 3: first aid.

Sighing, he winced again. There wasn't much he could do about his broken ribs, except be careful, nor could he do much for his broken leg, beyond what he had done. He had nothing to replace the P-90 as a splint and no way to set the broken bones. John reached into his TAC vest and pulled out a couple Tylenol. Pulling them out of their packages, he swallowed them dry and made a face. "What I wouldn't give for Carson's happy drugs…" he muttered. His attention turned to the wound on his right leg and his gaze narrowed as he carefully touched the hot skin around it and grudgingly acknowledged the aching pain it sent up his leg. Mud and dirt was caked over the top, only giving way for small trickles of blood that managed to break through. The damn thing was either infected or well on its way to being so.

He reached into the same pocket as his Tylenol was in and pulled out a small packet of topical antibiotics. His hands returned to his TAC vest and he pulled out one two field bandages. He stared for a minute at the water canteen, reluctant to waste his precious drinking water on cleaning his wound, but he didn't see where he had much choice. If the rain and snow kept up, he could get more, and he had a good supply of water purification tablets so he resigned himself to the task of cleaning the wound.

John unclipped the thigh bands of his gun holster before releasing the buckle around his waist. He lifted the holster and his nine mil out of the way but set it nearby, within arm's reach if he needed it. He shifted himself over slightly onto his right hip, grunting quietly as his broken left leg complained at him. He shook his head in dark irony. Broken left leg, wounded right leg… if it wasn't so damn desperate, it might actually be funny. "Hell of a thing to laugh at," he chastised himself.

Grabbing the canteen, he opened the lid and carefully poured a little water over the wound, allowing it to run down the side of his leg to the ground, taking mud, dirt and blood with it. He ripped the two torn edges of his pants further open, exposing the wound better and getting the filthy material away from it. Grabbing one of the bandages, he unfolded it and began cleaning the wound. It was a crude debriding; mostly consisting of grunts and colorful expletives as he wiped and even scrubbed the dirt and dried blood free. At some point, the wound began bleeding again, but he took that as a good sign. The blood would help flush the wound as good or better than the water he was liberally applying. John set the dirty bandage aside and grabbed his canteen. He poured the last of his water over the wound, nodding in satisfaction as all that washed free was clean red blood.

John leaned back against the cave wall for a minute and took a couple deep breaths. His gaze fixed on the flickering firelight for a moment and he smiled slightly as its warmth caressed his chest. He sat up, keeping the blanket over his shoulders as he grabbed the topical antibiotic, ripped open the top and sprinkled part of the package over his wound. He rolled the baggie up tightly and set it aside with his knife, TAC vest and other supplies before he shook open the clean bandage. Placing the gauze portion over the wound, he wrapped the long strips around his thigh and secured the bandage snugly. Satisfied with his work, John grabbed his canteen and carefully scooted around the fire to the cave entrance It was dark and the snow was falling heavily now, blanketing the ground in a layer of white. Carefully running his hands over the top layer of snow, John filled his canteen with as much clean snow as he could pack into it and as much as he could reach without venturing outside. He knew he'd need a lot of snow to translate to even a little bit of actual water but for now, this would have to do. In the back of his mind he hoped it would warm up enough tomorrow to rain instead of snow, but given his location, he'd settle for any precipitation at all. It was far better than trying to find a water source in his condition.

When he'd grabbed as much snow as he could, John put the lid back on his canteen and pulled himself back into the small cave. He set the canteen close enough to the fire to melt the snow, but not so close to damage it before he grabbed his TAC vest one last time and pulled out a Power Bar. Peeling back the wrapper he broke off half before putting the remaining half back in his vest. He shifted his feet and legs closer to the fire and leaned back against the cave wall. He pulled the blanket tighter around his body and even over his head as he stared at the fire and slowly ate what he'd rationed himself. Fighting pain and fatigue, he took stock of his situation. As long as it rained or snowed, he had a ready supply of water. There were probably enough vines in the cave for a couple days fire at the most; he had three Power Bars and one MRE. He wasn't sure how long it would be before complications from his broken leg would settle in, or if he would be able to hold the infection in his leg at bay.

John's thoughts turned to his team presumably safe back on Atlantis. He'd known Rodney to pull a brilliant plan from the back of his head and save the day more than once… and he really hoped Rodney could do it again.

"Come on, guys," he muttered. "Find me."

----------------------------------------------------

Elizabeth's grip on the railing was so tight, part of her wondered if she'd end up tearing the damn thing off. Her gaze fixed on the active Stargate as a MALP slowly crossed the event horizon and disappeared. Five planets they'd scanned; starting from the closest to Atlantis and working their way out. So far, they'd come up empty-handed. She inhaled deeply, her eyes never leaving the gate as she continued to fight the emotional turmoil within her. She had to maintain a strong, confident air, even if inside she was worried, almost to the point of being physically ill. It'd been ten hours since they'd started their search and yet they'd only eliminated five planets. With hundreds of gated planets in the same sector as Atlantis and countless others across the galaxy, time was the most precious commodity they had and in a moment of frustration, she felt it was the most squandered one as well.

"Telemetry coming through now."

Rodney's voice interrupted Elizabeth's dark brooding and she forced her clenched hands to let go of the railing before she turned to face him, her expression turning expectant. "And?" She prompted as she walked back to Rodney's station. "Anything?" She stopped next to Ronon, who just returned to Ops.

"Stand by," Rodney answered in a distracted voice.

Elizabeth flashed a small smile at Ronon. "How's Teyla?"

Ronon returned the expression. "Beckett says she'll be fine in a couple weeks."

Elizabeth nodded. "Good to hear."

"Nothing," Rodney abruptly snapped. "No sign of him in the immediate area." Rodney's annoyance deepened, but to Elizabeth's trained eye, it was only one of many colors woven into the tapestry of his emotions. Frustration, worry and anger, along with other more subtle influences, all added their tones to his expression, although he'd never admit to any of those feelings.

For the sixth time since this ordeal started, Elizabeth tapped her radio headset. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Weir, please respond." She rested one hand on the Ancient control panel and dropped her head before shaking it slightly. "Colonel Sheppard, please respond."

"No readings from his sub-q transmitter either. He's not there." Rodney's voice shook slightly with pent up anger.

"You sure?" Ronon's voice was quiet but still held a strong intensity.

"Positive," he answered. "Sheppard would know better than to wander that far from the gate. Besides according to these readings the scanner's range, given the environmental variables of this planet, is at least a hundred miles. There's no way he'd be further from the gate then that."

Elizabeth pursed her lips and nodded once, curtly. "Shut it down."

"Damn it," Rodney muttered as he slapped the Ancient console and deactivated the wormhole.

"This is taking too long!" Ronon placed both hands on the control panel next to Rodney and leaned in close to the doctor. Ronon glowered unwaveringly at Rodney who stared defiantly back.

"Oh really?" Rodney snapped, "I hadn't noticed that in ten hours we've only scanned five… no six planets! Thanks so much for enlightening me! But as painfully slow as it is, this is the only way we have to search for Sheppard! We have no idea where the wormhole jumped to, only that theoretically, and in galactic terms, it's not far from here." Rodney turned his gaze to Elizabeth. "The only way to find him is to work our way outward from Atlantis, methodically searching each planet with a gate."

Ronon leaned in even closer to Rodney. "Sheppard would have dialed in to Atlantis by now, if he could!"

"As if that hasn't already occurred to me a dozen times already, but thanks so much for reminding me again!" Rodney shot back.

"Rodney," Elizabeth interrupted him softly but firmly. "Dial the next planet."

Rodney returned his attention to Atlantis' DHD. "Dialing."

Elizabeth looked at Ronon and gave him a strained, small smile. She turned away and walked back to the railing. Silently grabbing it, she watched the gate dial as she resumed her vigil.

_"Sheppard would have dialed in to Atlantis by now, if he could!"_

Ronon's words echoed in Elizabeth's head and silently she agreed. She hadn't been able to shake the dread in her gut that something had happened to John and Ronon's affirmation did nothing to comfort her. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. _Hold on, John, we're coming…_ She swallowed her emotions, opened her eyes, and once more fixed her gaze on the Stargate.

------------------------------

"_Survival is an attitude, not a skill."_

"_Let me repeat that. Survival is an attitude, not a skill. You can have all the skill in the world but without blunt determination; never letting the thought of dying enter your mind, you won't make it. Period."_

John gradually awoke from a dozing sleep, slowly peeled his eyes open and forced his dried lips apart. He grimaced, feeling like he had a mouth full of cotton. As awareness came back to him, so did the pain and he hissed then grunted as spasms from the traumatized muscles around his broken bones sent waves of agony through him. His writhing was barely controlled as he struggled to keep his leg still and not jar the broken bones any further. By the time the spasms faded back to an insistent throbbing pain, he had a light sheen of sweat on his brow that instantly cooled against the chilly air and he shivered in response. Stiffly, he forced himself to sit up straighter. He grabbed his knife and stoked his small fire that had died down to coals during his fitful sleep. Poking the coals insistently, John coaxed them back to life and fed them a few more vines in encouragement. He ran his hand over his pant legs, nodding to himself at the barely damp feel that greeted his touch. They were nearly dry. Reaching behind him he snagged his tee shirt, also nearly dry and decided it was close enough. Letting the blanket fall off his shoulders, John quickly pulled his shirt on before shrugging into his coat. He winced slightly at the wet and clammy sleeve cuffs, but decided it was a small price to pay for otherwise dry clothes. He zipped the coat all the way to his neck and pulled part of the blanket over his head, while he draped the rest around his torso as best as he could. His feet were cold, but at least they **felt** cold which encouraged him. He wouldn't worry until he couldn't feel them anymore and as long as he kept them as close to the fire as he could, he thought he'd be okay.

Grabbing his canteen he washed down another couple Tylenol before eating the last half of the Power Bar he'd started the night before. He took another sip of water, grimacing slightly at the tang left over from the purification tablets. Before he'd fallen into a fitful doze, the water in the canteen had melted so he'd added a purification tablet and now he was glad he had. It just meant he didn't have to wait this morning to try and slake his thirst, at least a little. Capping the canteen he turned and looked outside. Snow was still falling heavily in the pre-dawn light and he guessed there was about four or five inches on the ground. Nodding to himself he opened the canteen and drained it. Given his body's condition and the very nature of just trying to survive, dehydration was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He twisted around and away from the fire, before pushing himself up on the knee of his good leg. The bandaged wound protested loudly, but not nearly as much as his broken leg which he carefully drug behind him as he worked his way to the entrance using his hands and one, partially good, leg. No matter how cautious he was, each small measure of progress came at a painful expense as his dragging, broken leg was jarred, in spite of his best efforts. Reaching the entrance, he set the canteen in the snow and forced himself out of the cave and away from the entrance. Regardless of the situation, basic biological functions still demanded attention, and he wanted to be as far away from his water source as possible.

Finished, he worked his way back to his canteen and filled it with as much snow as he could before slowly making his way back into the cave, each little piece of progress coming at a heavily painful price. When his toe caught on a small rock and jarred his leg hard, the cry that came from his mouth echoed around him. Blackness crept into his vision and it took everything he had not to collapse on the spot. "Buck… up… John," he hissed through clenched teeth and he forced himself to keep moving.

Finally he settled back against the cave wall, his breaths coming in great heaves, and sweat lining his brow. He forced himself to stay wrapped in the blanket and his clothes in spite of how hot he felt, knowing chills and heat loss would only make him sick; something he definitely did **not** need. With shaky hands, he set the canteen close to the fire and let his head fall back against the cave wall; the thin blanket draped over his head offering very slight padding against the hard rock. Slowly, he pulled the blanket tighter around his body.

His thoughts dwelled on his team and Atlantis. He knew they were looking for him… coming for him. He had no doubt. He just had to hold on until they found him. Strengthened by determination, John took one deep breath, then another. His gaze fixed on the fire and its hypnotic effect calmed him. In spite of the pain he felt drowsy and surrendered to sleep.

---------------------------------


	4. Chapter 4

_Some minor changes to chapter 3… sorry! Small continuity error fixed. Life is hectic right now, and that weaseled its way into the story. My sincerest apologies. Honestly, I'm REALLY not prone to continuity issues... sigh  
_

_Anyways, thanks for the reviews. Hope you enjoy this chapter :)_

For the fifth time, Elizabeth read through the new personnel manifest from the Daedalus, but it still didn't register any more with her this time then it had the previous four. Sighing, she pushed the data pad across her desk and away from her. Coming into her office to try and do something, besides pacing behind Rodney in Ops, apparently was about as good an idea as trying to eat or sleep to pass the hours as they searched for John. Slowly, she stood, turned and walked over to the large window overlooking the Gate Room. She stared down at the active gate as yet another MALP crossed the event horizon and disappeared._ Planet fourteen… sixteen hours later…_ she crossed her arms and stared, trying to will this to be the right planet… the place they'd find him. She pursed her lips and dropped her head. After sixteen hours, she knew something had to be wrong for him not to have communicated with them by now.

Her gaze was so intent on the wormhole that Rodney's voice over her headset made her jump and it took a moment for her to process what he was saying.

"Elizabeth, its Rodney. We have a positive reading on Sheppard's sub-q transmitter!"

She drew in a deep, sharp breath and trotted out of her office. "Rodney, open a channel to the planet."

"Open." Rodney's voice almost immediately replied.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Elizabeth took a deep breath and lightly tapped her headset. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Weir, do you copy?" She stopped next to Rodney and bit her lip as she looked down at him, silence greeting her hail. Her eyes furrowed in question, but she didn't have to utter what she was thinking.

"Yes," Rodney nodded emphatically, "I'm sure. The signal is definitely his transmitter."

"Colonel Sheppard," Elizabeth couldn't quite keep the pleading tone from her voice. "Please respond." After another silent moment she clicked off her headset and looked up as Ronon raced up the stairs.

"You found him?" Ronon questioned.

"We're not sure yet," Elizabeth raised a hand and held tightly to her strong aura. "We've picked up the signal from his transmitter but he's not answering our hails."

"He's there!" Rodney insisted. "And according to these readings, not far away either."

"I'm going." Ronon abruptly turned towards the stairs.

"Ronon!" Elizabeth poured as much command in her voice as she could. "Wait. Not until we know what's on the other side of that wormhole." She stared hard at his rebellious look. Part of her was surprised her command stopped him in the first place. Stopping Ronon from doing something he had his mind set on, seemed to be the sole providence of John and no one else. She narrowed her gaze and played her trump card. "Colonel Sheppard would agree. You know that."

Ronon's scowl deepened, but he nodded once, curtly.

Elizabeth nodded back before again looking down at Rodney. "What's the MALP telemetry?"

"Habitable," Rodney replied, "if you can call freezing temperatures and snow habitable. The area around the gate seems clear… what the…" Rodney's voice trailed off as his gaze narrowed at the computer screen.

"What is it?" Elizabeth stepped closer to Rodney and looked over his shoulder.

"The Gate. It's perched on a damn cliff!" Rodney shook his head. "No sign of a DHD… or Sheppard."

"He couldn't have stayed up there long," Ronon interjected. "He went to look for shelter. Had to."

"Where?" Rodney's voice cracked slightly. "It's a **cliff**."

"We're not going to find him standing here," Ronon once again fixed Elizabeth with a penetrating stare.

This time, though, Elizabeth was inclined to agree. She again tapped her radio. "Major Lorne I need you and a team outfitted in cold weather gear and in the Jumper Bay in ten minutes. We've located Colonel Sheppard. Ronon and McKay will brief you."

Lorne's voice immediately answered her. "Yes, ma'am."

Elizabeth barely waited for Lorne's response before continuing. "Beckett, this is Weir. We have a potential medical situation off world. I need you to join Lorne's team in the Jumper Bay. Dress for snow, Carson."

"Snow? Ach," Carson responded. "Colonel Sheppard?"

"Yes," Elizabeth answered quietly.

"Aye, I'll be there with bells on, Beckett out."

"Great, snow," Rodney groused, but still didn't hesitate to stand and join Ronon as they quickly made for the back stairs.

Elizabeth watched them go before nodding at Chuck who took Rodney's place. "Open a channel to the planet, please." She drew in a deep breath as Chuck looked down for a moment before nodding at her.

Elizabeth activated her radio. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Weir. Please respond." As she listened intently for any reply, she slowly walked to the balcony rail and grabbed tightly to it. She stared at the wormhole. "John, please. Answer me."

---------------------------------------------

Pain was a constant companion.

In spite of the small fire he religiously kept going and a light sheen of sweat on his brow, John shivered. His frown deepened as the chills permeated his entire body. Darkly, he realized it was more than the cold. Whether the fever was from his wound, his broken leg, or busted ribs, it didn't matter. What mattered was he had it and it only weakened him. He blinked hard, his gaze narrowing in determination. It may weaken his body, but he refused to let it weaken his spirit. He took another small sip of water before pulling the blanket tighter around him. He stared at the orange and yellow flickers of firelight as he struggled to stay resolute… certain his team would find him and soon… certain he'd survive. The fire had an almost hypnotic effect on him as he let his mind wander…

"_Survival is an attitude, not a skill."_

"_Let me repeat that. Survival is an attitude, not a skill. You can have all the skill in the world but without blunt determination; never letting the thought of dying enter your mind, you won't make it. Period." _

In the dancing firelight, John could see the roughened, weather-worn face of Colonel Sedgwick, a legend amongst pilots. Shot down and presumed dead in the desert wastelands of Iraq, Colonel Sedgwick had not only eluded enemy forces, but managed to survive with little or no resources. John and the other pilots were two weeks from being deployed to Afghanistan, when Sedgwick was brought in to talk to them. A half smile pulled at the side of John's mouth. He'd been a hotshot pilot then; had never seen a friend died, or two others blown up by an RPG right in front of him. The thought of actually using survival skills had never occurred to his cocky 'I'll never get shot down' mindset, but still, he'd listened…

_Sedgwick slowly walked along the line of pilots, taking the time to look each of them in the eye. "You'll hate the enemy, yourself and the whole damn world before it's done. You'll feel hopelessness and fear and every fiber of your being will scream for you to give up. But, if you let __**any**__ of that get to you, you're finished. Stress is your worst enemy. It steals your skills, your abilities and if you let it, your life." He stopped and crossed his arms. "Add injury to that; and if you crashed, you can damn well assume you'll probably be injured in some way; and about the only thing you'll have to rely on to survive is your willpower." He walked back down the line of pilots. "Never, ever let the thought of __**not**__ surviving linger. As soon as it enters your head, dismiss it. You're highly trained United States Air Force Pilots. You have the skills, the means and the __**confidence**__ to survive. Use it and you'll stay alive. Let fear, anxiety and frustration dominate you and I don't care if you have a shelter a hurricane couldn't blow over, you'll die. I guarantee it." _

John had seen a haunted look in Sedgwick's eyes and at that point he remembered that, of the three officers that had lived when the Blackhawk went down, Sedgwick had been the only that had survived to be rescued.

John came back to the present as a wave of pain shot through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and grunted loudly. He was cold, injured, alone and immobile. _Not sure how much more of this I can take…_ John's eyes shot open and he inhaled deeply. Sedgwick's words echoed in his mind as he immediately dismissed the thoughts. "How much can I take?" he muttered to himself, "as much as I have to."

He decided he needed a distraction. His mind wandered for a moment, before it settled on something. "Okay," he spoke quietly, deciding the sound of his voice was comforting, at least at some level. "Pegasus only," he decided. "A… Atlantis." He chuckled. "That's too easy. So, Atlantis. Ends with S… S… Sateda." He wrapped his arms tighter around himself and pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Sateda… that's A again. A… Athos. S again… S…" his eyelids drooped and with a start, he forced them open. "Let's just say Athosian instead. N…" John winced. "Nanites. S again, damn it." He sighed. "S… S… Steve." John shuddered slightly at the thought of the Wraith male. "Okay, don't need to be thinking of Wraith. E… E… damn." He paused for a moment and thought before a small smile came to his face. "Emmagan, Teyla." His smile faded. The last he'd seen of Teyla, she'd been nearly unconscious with an arrow in her side, as Rodney all but drug her through the gate. "Teyla," he muttered. John's thoughts lingered a moment longer on the Athosian member of his team, and then drifted to his team in general. They'd find him, he knew it… and he'd be alive to greet them come hell or high water. "A…" John smiled slightly, "A.R.G. Gotta love those things…" he chuckled quietly only to wince as his ribs protested. Unconsciously, he moved his legs and his broken one made its protest loud and clear. "Argh!" He pulled in a loud, hissing breath through clenched teeth as he reached towards his broken bones, his hands only making it as far as his knee. "Damn it!" Frustration welled up inside of him, but he immediately turned it away. "Keep it together, John," he chastised himself. After several long moments, the pain eased and he carefully leaned back against the cave wall. He took a couple deep breaths and again pulled the blanket around himself.

Reaching down, he grabbed his knife and poked his little fire before adding another vine. He stared for a moment at his rapidly dwindling supply of vines and sighed. Once they were gone, he'd have fire in fifteen minute bursts as he used up each of his fuel bars. Not a pleasant thought, but a very real one he had to consider. He stopped himself from grabbing another vine and let his fire shrink some in an attempt to further ration his fuel supply. John carefully pulled himself closer to the fire taking great cares not to jostle his leg any more than absolutely necessary. He rubbed his hands together in front of the flames as he tried to repress chilled shivers. "Where was I? G… G.D.O. Have that, just need a DHD." He smiled slightly and forced himself to keep a light mood. "O…" Leaning back against the cave wall, his eyelids again drooped. "O…" A crackling in his ear startled him back to full awareness. He reached up, his hand encountering his radio as his addled mind finally put two and two together.

"_John, please. Answer me."_

Struggling to hold on to coherent thoughts, he fumbled with his headset before activating it. "Sheppard," he managed. "Elizabeth?" He waited a beat, apprehension creeping into him. He'd heard her voice. It wasn't some trick of his mind, he knew it. "Can anyone hear me?"

"_John… god… Jumper… way." _

John slouched back against the cave wall and took a deep breath. They'd found him. In spite of the encouraging turn of events, he couldn't fight the call of unconsciousness as his eyes slid shut.

------------------------

"John? John are you still there?" Elizabeth mashed her headset painfully against her ear as she strained to hear anything from him. "John? Please respond." She'd deciphered two words from him but she was greedy and wanted more. She wanted him to talk to her, to tell her he was okay and tease her about what took them so long to find him. Giving in to the silence she closed the channel before opening another. "Lorne this is Weir. We've made contact with Colonel Sheppard, but only briefly. He's alive." She looked up as the Jumper Bay doors opened and Jumper Two gracefully descended into the Gate Room.

"Good to hear, ma'am," Lorne responded. "We'll radio in when we know more. Jumper Two out."

Elizabeth stared at the wormhole as Jumper Two took a moment to position itself before it streaked thought the Stargate. "We're coming," she muttered, still staring at the Stargate, long after the wormhole vanished.

-------------------------

Ronon held a vice-like grip on the backs of the pilot and co-pilot seats as he stared out the windshield of the Jumper as it slowly landed, just past the gate. Snow swirled; the unfortunate flakes that hit the Jumper windshield melting instantly.

"Damn, can't barely see fifty feet," Lorne muttered. He tapped his headset. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Major Lorne. Do you read?"

Ronon stared at Lorne for a second before his impatience won him over. "Open the hatch." Grabbing the extra large parka from his chair, Ronon pulled it on as he walked towards the lowering hatch.

"Wait a minute!" Rodney trotted up next to him. "Charging around blindly in a blizzard isn't going to help us find Sheppard!" He reached inside his coat and pulled out his Life Signs Detector. "Jumper sensors indicate the sub-q signal is just west of here. Confirming…" he followed Ronon out the back of the Jumper.

"I wouldn't exactly call this a blizzard, Doc," Lorne and two Marines walked past Ronon and Rodney. Lorne gestured forward. "Look around boys, but stay sharp."

"Whatever!" Rodney snapped. He wiped snow off the LSD display and took a moment to glare up at the falling snowflakes. "Who ordered the Marshmallow World anyway?" he grumbled as he pulled his hood up and returned his attention to the LSD.

Ronon walked past Rodney to the west edge of the cliff and looked down. "Damn it," he muttered quietly. He couldn't see more than twenty feet and there was no sign of the colonel. "Sheppard!" he yelled and listened; the ever fading echo of his voice the only answer. He shook his head. "This has to be where he went over the side," Ronon crouched, running his hand over the dense layer of snow.

"I can't believe he free climbed that," Carson commented quietly.

Ronon could feel the Scottish doctor right behind him as he continued to look downwards. He absently brushed snow away from the edge of the cliff, when something caught his eye. He wiped the snow a bit more insistently before pulling a small shred of black fabric off a jagged piece of rock.

"Is that…" Carson started.

"Lorne!" Ronon snapped. He stood and turned staring hard as the major trotted over to him. He presented the piece of material quietly, letting Lorne draw his own conclusions. The major didn't disappoint.

Lorne nodded once. "Sensor readings indicate that's a pretty steep drop off. I'll get the Jumper."

"Confirmed," Rodney stood next to Ronon and aimed his scanner over the edge. "Sheppard's sub-q transmitter is definitely down there."

Edgy, Ronon barely spared a glance at Rodney before refocusing his attention on Lorne. "When you get in the air, throw me a rope. You can lower me over the edge to find him." Ronon stared evenly at the Air Force Major, technically the commander of this team. He was overstepping his bounds slightly, and knew it, but Sheppard was one of the few people he trusted and called friend. He wasn't in the mood for niceties, not that he ever really was anyway.

Lorne stared back for a moment, before half smiling. "Makes sense to me."

"Count me in," Carson interjected. He looked back and forth between Ronon and Lorne's surprised looks. "What?"

"Carson, heroics really aren't your style," Rodney added his disbelieving stare to the chorus.

"Ach! The colonel may be injured and if he is I need to assess him before we go moving him one inch! If he appears not to be, then I still need to assess him to make sure he's not overriding injury with that bloody stubborn head of his!" Carson's voice rose, as did the thickness of his accent. He fixed Ronon with a stern stare. "I'm goin' with ye!"

In spite of the situation, Ronon smiled slightly and nodded.

"Sounds like a plan, Doc," Lorne confirmed.

"Right," Carson answered. "Let me get my pack."

As he quickly stepped into a climbing harness, Ronon felt the cold air on his face and saw the puffs of breath from his mouth. If anything, they hastened his actions. His friend had been trapped here, alone, probably injured. It would've been bad enough with ideal weather, but this…

Ronon's jaw clenched. Deep in his gut he knew Sheppard was still alive. Not just because he wanted it, but because he knew the kind of man Sheppard was. Ronon blinked hard and vainly tried to shut out all the lonely, isolated memories from his seven years on the run from the Wraith. Even healthy, he'd felt frustration and helplessness sometimes… but then there were the times he was injured… Ronon mentally tried to turn away from all the times he'd thought… really thought, about ending it all. In the deepest gloom of helplessness an end had felt inviting… seducing. But, he'd always fallen back on his hatred for the Wraith and it had filled him with a raw determination to survive. Maybe now that's why he still hunted and hated them so… for reasons beyond the obvious anyway. The hatred was what drove his survival for seven years.

But Sheppard… Sheppard was different. He didn't hold tightly to the burn of spite to survive, but rather to the strength of optimism. Ronon snorted quietly as he fastened the climbing harness and walked silently back to the edge of the cliff, leaving the others behind him. But, more than optimism, Sheppard had the tenacity of a Warat and the fire of life burned hot within him. Ronon smiled slightly. Sheppard was alive. He was too stubborn… too strong of spirit, not to be.

Ronon pulled himself from his thoughts as Carson, equipped with a backpack and a climbing harness of his own, walked up next to Ronon. Ronon arched a brow at the unsure look on Carson's face. "You okay, Doc?"

Carson flashed a small but still nervous smile. "Aye, I'll be fine."

Ronon looked up as the Jumper gracefully glided towards them before slowing to a stop and hovering just over their heads. Two coils of rope sailed out of the back to land in the snow, just behind Ronon and Carson. Ronon grabbed both ropes and paused as he looked back at Carson. "Know how to tie it?"

Carson's expression turned sheepish. "Actually, I was hoping you would help me with that…"

Ronon arched a brow, but really couldn't be mad at the doctor. Carson showed a lot of guts to literally jump into this, for Sheppard's sake, and that garnered a lot of respect in Ronon. Wordlessly, he tied the first rope to Carson's harness, before repeating the process with the second rope and his own harness. He looked up and tapped his headset. "We're ready."

"Copy that. We'll take this nice and slow," Lorne answered.

"Have you on the HUD," Rodney interjected. "I've been able to pinpoint the location of Sheppard's transmitter. Lorne should be able to land you within a few feet. According to these readings, there is a narrow outcropping about seventy five feet down."

Ronon watched as the rope slack slowly disappeared. At the last moment, he sat back in his harness and tried to relax some as the Jumper lifted him and Carson from the ground. "Doin' ok, Doc?"

"Aye," Carson muttered. "Just peachy."

Ronon looked down as the veil of snow gave way to a narrow, natural path in the rock. "Lorne, I see it."

"Confirmed," Lorne answered. "Ten feet."

Ronon watched the ground approach, until he felt it meet the soles of his thick boots. He put weight on his feet, but held fast to the rope as he slipped in the snow. "Careful, Doc. It's…"

"Bloody hell!"

Ronon's hand shot out, latching onto Carson's parka as the doctor lost his footing and slipped off the edge. It didn't matter that he was still harnessed and secured to the rope. Even a short fall could injure him. Ronon dug his heels into the snow, gritted his teeth and pulled, hauling Carson back.

"What the hell happened?" Rodney's voice demanded over the radio.

"I nearly went off the edge!" Carson's voice cracked. "It's damn slippery down here!"

Ronon held on a moment longer until he was sure the doctor was steady on his feet. "You okay, Doc?"

Carson took a deep breath and gave him a small smile. "Aye. Owe ye one, lad."

Ronon nodded once and turned, his gaze narrowing at a wide opening in the side of the cave. Everything was black, mixed with the white of snow except…

His eyes widened as the oranges of a small fire registered with his mind. "Sheppard!" Slipping and cussing, Ronon stumbled to the cave, Carson right behind him. He fell to his knees and crawled in, abruptly stopping as his gaze fixed on his friend, motionless and propped against the wall.

"Colonel?" Carson scrabbled by him, around the fire and up next to Sheppard. He pressed his fingers into Sheppard's throat before nodding. "Rapid but strong. He's got a fever too."

"Lorne," Ronon spoke in his radio. "Found him. He's alive."

"Oh thank God," Rodney answered.

"Doc, how bad?" Lorne insisted.

Carson sighed. "I need more time to know. But I can tell you he's unconscious with a fever," Carson pulled open his bag, grabbed a thick blanket and spread it out over Sheppard. "Looks like he has a wound on the right thigh, and judging by the splint on his left leg, I'd say he has a broken tib/fib."

"I'll dial Atlantis and update Dr. Weir," Lorne responded.

"Aye, Beckett out." Carson looked up at Ronon. "He's in bad shape, but I need to assess his injuries before we move him."

Ronon nodded, turned and stared for a moment at the small fire and the even smaller pile of what looked like vines next to it. Taking them one at a time, Ronon added each vine to the fire until he had a vigorous campfire crackling back at them.

"That'll help," Carson nodded at him. He paused in his exam and looked back up at Sheppard's face as the colonel moaned quietly.

"Sheppard?" Ronon questioned.

Sheppard's head slowly turned toward Ronon before his eyes opened. They were clouded with sickness, but still focused on his face. "R..non…"

Ronon couldn't help but smile slightly. "Yep."

Sheppard's head slowly turned the other way. "Carsnn…" he whispered.

Ronon watched as the doctor's business like expression turned compassionate. "Aye," he said softly. "Take it easy, son. We'll take good care of ye."


	5. Chapter 5

_I have to apologize for taking so long to update. I am so sorry! Stress from real life silenced my muse for quiet a while. Took a bit to coax her out and get her to come back ;) I never intended to go so long between chapters._

_The reviews, as always, are wonderful. I'm just incredibly sorry to leave you all hanging so long!_

Hope there are still a few people out there reading this story :)

-----------------

Carson resisted the urge to sigh; to show his concern as he stared at Sheppard's glassy eyes and pale complexion. His hands automatically wrapped the BP cuff around the Colonel's arm, his gaze never leaving Sheppard's face.

"Carson, its Elizabeth. How is he?"

Carson pressed his lips in a tight line as he reached up and tapped his headset. "I don't know much yet, Elizabeth, just starting my exam. I'll get back to ye when I know more. Beckett out." He pulled the radio from his ear to make room for his stethoscope which he immediately placed as he inflated the cuff. In the back of his mind, he felt a twinge of guilt for being so abrupt with Elizabeth, but he knew that she, of all people, would understand. Honestly, he didn't know much at this stage and having to tell that, more than once, to more than one person was hampering his ability to assess the colonel.

Mentally recording Sheppard's BP, he deflated the cuff and moved his stethoscope to his patient's chest. He listened closely, nodding to himself at the sounds of mild congestion in both lungs; something he'd expect, given the colonel's condition. He added it to the list of concerns he was forming in his mind. From the looks of things, the colonel had done a damn fine job caring for himself; as much as his situation would allow, but the human body could only take so much before it started succumbing to the ravages of injury and the elements. _Likely has pneumonia.._. Carson looped the stethoscope over his neck and gently palpated the colonel's chest. He froze as his probe to the left lateral ribcage evoked an involuntary twitch and quiet groan from his patient.

"broke…" Sheppard managed.

Carson nodded. "Aye. At least two maybe three." He pressed his lips together. That definitely explained the congestion in his lungs. He'd most likely been shallow breathing to avoid jostling his broken ribs… something that definitely didn't help keep his lungs clear.

"Thought… so…" Sheppard answered quietly.

"Colonel," Carson sat back on his heels, "I need ye to tell me what else hurts." He watched as Sheppard swallowed hard and inhaled a small breath.

"Leg…"

"Aye," Carson agreed, "I gathered that much. What else?"

"Sore… stiff…" Sheppard's eyelids fluttered before opening.

Carson returned the colonel's groggy gaze with a confident one of his own. "Nothing else injured?"

"Don't think… so…"

Carson sighed, not entirely confident in his patient's self-assessment. He took a deep breath and turned around refocusing his attention on Sheppard's splinted leg. His gaze narrowed at the P-90, securely taped tight against the broken bone. Carson shook his head slightly. It was a hell of an improvision. He felt his respect only deepen. There was a reason Sheppard had survived as many brushes with death that he had. He was damn resourceful when he had to be… that and sheer, blunt and sometimes bull-headed tenacity… Carson looked around, spying Sheppard's discarded knife. He grabbed it and paused to look back at the colonel. "I'll be as gentle as I can, Colonel, but this is likely to hurt some."

The corner of Sheppard's mouth turned up slightly. "What? Don't like… my splint?"

Carson actually chuckled. "Aye, it's a fine idea, son. But I got something that might work a wee bit better and I want that bone fully immobilized before we move you. I'm not even going to consider reducing a fracture this old until I get you back to Atlantis. Then we'll most likely anesthetize you, set and cast it." Carson mentally turned away from the list of possible and probable complications resulting from a fracture that had gone unset for this long. His gaze narrowed as he noticed a flicker of tension roll through Sheppard's body. "Colonel?"

"Nothing. Just a… spasm. Sounds like… a plan…"

Carson nodded silently and exchanged brief, concerned looks with a silent Ronon before he returned his attention to his patient. "Wish I could give you something for the pain, but I can't properly assess your condition here so I can't risk it." He sighed. "Try to relax, son, it'll help."

"Understand… Doc," Sheppard tried a small smile. "It's okay."

"Doc?" Ronon tapped his headset. "Lorne."

"Tell him I'm busy," Carson snapped back with a little more irritation then he intended, but it rolled right off the big Satedan.

"Says the weather's getting worse. Gonna be hard to fly the Jumper before long."

"Tell him I'm going as fast as I can," Carson answered in a stern voice. "But I'm not moving the Colonel until I'm sure we can do so safely. Weather be damned."

The corner of Ronon's mouth turned up slightly as he tapped his radio. "Doc's goin' as fast as he can."

Carson reached in his pocket and grabbed his radio, fitting it to his ear just in time to hear Rodney's response.

"Tell him to get a move on it! The visibility out here is nearly non-existent! We have to get Sheppard out of there while we can still see to do it!"

"Ten minutes, Rodney," Carson interrupted. "In the mean time, get one of those Marines down here with a basket to get the colonel out of here. Beckett out." He smacked his headset and closed the channel. "Cheeky bugger," he muttered.

"Just his charming self." Sheppard answered quietly, his voice slightly clearer.

Carson looked back at him, noticing the slight color returning to his face and his clearer gaze. The bigger fire and warm blanket seemed to be having a positive effect on him.

Sheppard's tone sobered. "Doc, don't take too long. I can move now. If the weather's getting bad enough for Lorne to comment on it, then don't risk it. Just help me up, tie a harness on me and lift me out of here."

Amazement widened Carson's eyes. "You're bloody insane! You're not leaving here any other way then in a rescue basket, period! I'll not have ye dangling from the jumper, God knows how far above the ground with only your injured body to keep you from falling!"

"Doc…"

Carson waved his hand, cutting off Sheppard. "Enough! That's the end of it. You're doing this my way and no other."

Sheppard grimaced but nodded slightly. "Got it."

Carson nodded once, curtly back at him. "Alright then." He picked up the knife and looked back at the Colonel, this time his expression was much more compassionate. "I'll be as careful as I can."

Sheppard's expression was resigned. "I know. Get to it." He found a small, grim smile. "Don't worry. The safety's on."

Carson returned his attention to the splint as he carefully ran the sharp edge of the knife along the tape, the blade flush with the side of the P-90. Silently, he was relieved the colonel kept his knife sharp; it passed through the tape almost effortlessly. Carefully, Carson peeled the P-90 away from Sheppard's leg and laid it on the ground. He stared for a moment at the remainder of the tape, stuck securely to Sheppard's pant legs. "Not going to worry about that," he commented absently. Carson quickly and carefully cut the last of the tape binding the P-90 to Sheppard's leg and moved the gun aside. Carefully, he cut the pant leg and laces on Sheppard's combat boot, before he got his first, good look at the broken limb. His gaze narrowed at the profuse swelling as he reached out and gently touched Sheppard's cold ankle.

"What's the verdict, Carson?" Sheppard asked quietly.

Carson looked at him. "'tis broken for sure." He smiled grimly as Sheppard arched an eyebrow at him.

"No kidding."

Carson sighed quietly. "We'll know more when we get you back to Atlantis." He stared for a moment at Sheppard's serious expression. After three years together in the Pegasus Galaxy, Carson had no doubt that Sheppard knew he was keeping something from him, but the colonel had enough sense not to push the subject… for now. Carson smiled slightly. "I don't know anything for sure right now, Colonel," he reassured.

Sheppard's brow quirked slightly. "Yeah."

Carson broke eye contact and reached into his pack, pulling out a sturdy field splint. He carefully scooted closer and gently slid his hand under Sheppard's leg. He lifted slightly, trying to ignore the groans of pain, punctuated by harsh grunts and the involuntary twitching; all betraying the colonel's staunch control. As quickly as he could, Carson positioned the splint and secured it, effectively immobilizing the broken limb. He looked up, noting the sweat on Sheppard's brow and the ragged breaths that echoed in the small cave.

Ronon reached out and squeezed the colonel's shoulder in an uncharacteristically gentle way. "Easy Sheppard."

"We're done, Colonel," Carson reassured.

Sheppard's eyes remained closed. "Glad to… hear it."

Carson pushed himself back a short distance from Sheppard. "Have you had access to water?" He breathed a slight sigh of relief as the colonel nodded slightly.

"Snow and purification tablets but it's been a bit tough, Doc," Sheppard answered.

Carson glanced at the broken limb and nodded. "Aye, I bet. We'll get ye some water back in the Jumper, but you'll need an IV too." He looked over his shoulder as a tall Marine ducked into the cave, pulling a rescue basket behind him.

The Marine brushed the snow off his shoulders and nodded once at Sheppard. "Colonel. Heard you could use a lift, sir."

Sheppard cracked a small smile. "Little help would be good, Harris."

Sergeant Harris' smile widened slightly as he pulled the rescue basket into the cave.

Carson felt a small smile pull at his mouth as well. Down to the last man, Sheppard's men were fiercely loyal to him and it was for more reasons than the fact that he was their CO. Sheppard was a natural born leader and the men took to him like ducks to water. That loyalty was only reinforced by the colonel's commitment to knowing and remembering the names of each and every soldier under his command… and its worth showed in Harris' expression.

Carson returned his attention to his patient. "Ready to get out of here, Colonel?"

"Yeah, more than ready," Sheppard answered.

----------------------------

Lorne's grip tightened on the Jumper's controls as he struggled to hold the little ship steady against the buffering winds. He sent a mental order to the ship as well, just for good measure, before looking over at McKay. "Been ten minutes yet?"

"Twelve," Rodney answered tersely. He reached for the ship's communications console.

Lorne spared a hand to grab Rodney's. "I'm sure they're working as fast as they can." He felt Rodney resist for a moment, before he pulled his hand away.

"Fine. But if we crash on this gods forsaken planet, don't expect me to save our butts with some brilliant plan I have to pull out of my ass," Rodney snapped as he stared at the HUD.

"We'll just freeze to death to protect your ego, McKay," Lorne answered. He could feel Rodney's icy stare on the side of his face, but he refused to look at him.

"Whatever," Rodney groused.

Lorne's slight smile faded as he squinted at the HUD. "Is that…"

"As if this couldn't get any worse!" Rodney interrupted. "Oh no, throw the blizzard from hell into the mix!" he tapped a few keys on the console in front of him. "Definitely worse," he lamented. "Makes a Canadian blizzard look like a flurry."

Puzzled, Lorne remained quiet, but his confusion must've shown on his face.

"Never mind!" Rodney waved in his general direction. "It's bad!" He squinted at the HUD as the display changed, focusing on the storm and streaming data below the graphical representation that looked a lot like a radar scan.

Lorne turned his attention briefly to Rodney who was giving him a look of pure dread. "What?"

"It's packing near hurricane force winds, blinding snow…" Rodney shook his head. "There's no way you can fly a Jumper in that! You're struggling now and this is only a fraction of what's coming!" 

Lorne gritted his teeth. "How long?"

"In fifteen minutes, we're going to be so screwed," Rodney's voice was low but still held a note of panic in it.

Lorne, on the other hand, felt the need to raise his voice… considerably. "Fifteen minutes? Why didn't you see this coming?"

"Oh, excuse me for not being the resident meteorologist!" Irritation replaced the panic in Rodney's voice. "It's not like I wasn't doing **other** things!"

Lorne resisted the urge to cuss as he smacked his headset. "Doc, get a move on it. We have a little… situation here."

----------------------------------

John's gaze narrowed slightly as Lorne's cryptic message came across their radios. He reached up and tapped his headset, beating both Carson and Ronon to the response. "Care to explain the situation, Major?"

"Colonel? Good to hear your voice, sir," Lorne responded. "McKay's picked up a severe storm headed our way. Inside of fifteen minutes, it's going to be impossible to fly the Jumper sir. We're talking hurricane force winds and white out conditions."

"Damn it," John muttered, and forced his addled brain to focus. The adrenaline coursing through him helped, but he also knew its effect would be short lived, before his body would just shut down. John shook off the thought. _Like hell I'm giving in.._. He tried, almost successfully, to smother the pain in his body. "Copy that," he managed. He closed the channel and held tightly to his determination. There were six other lives to consider and John keenly felt the responsibility for each of them. Injuries be damned, he wouldn't risk any one of them, even for himself. John looked over at Ronon and extended his arm. "Help me up. We don't have time to mess around here."

"Oh no you don't!" Carson immediately replied. "I mean it, Colonel, you're not getting out of her on your one, partially good, leg!"

John pulled on the most commanding look he could muster and turned his attention to the doctor. "Carson, we don't have time to argue! I'm not risking the Jumper and everyone here over this, when I'm still mobile!" He winced as painful spasms from his broken leg momentarily overcame his control. He squeezed his eyes shut and grunted as he tried to regain his hard fought for control.

"Ach, see?"

John opened his eyes to see Carson pointing at him in an almost accusatory manner. He felt like he'd just been fingered for a murder.

"Mobile my arse!" Carson finished.

John looked at Ronon, who just arched his brows and looked away. He turned his attention to Harris. "Sergeant?" He narrowed his gaze as the Sergeant winced.

"Sorry, sir, but Doctor Beckett is right. You can't do this," Harris answered quietly.

"Even if I order you, Harris?" John hardened his gaze, but to his surprise, the young sergeant didn't back down.

"Yes, sir," he answered.

John clenched his teeth, not in anger at the soldier; he liked men under his command that could think for themselves, but in irritation at himself and the situation. A tickle in his chest sparked a reflexive cough and in that moment, his hard fought control shattered. Pain shot through his chest, taking his breath away and the tension that rolled over his body sparked one spasm after another from his leg. He fell back against the cave wall, writhing as his coughs were punctuated by muted cries of pain.

"Colonel? Easy son. Just take it easy."

John's tormented mind latched onto Carson's soothing voice as he struggled to ride out the pain. He felt Ronon's hand on his shoulder and through half lidded eyes, could see Harris crouched near his feet, the young soldier's face etched with concern.

"Sir?" Harris ventured.

John swallowed hard and panted shallowly a couple times before opening his eyes fully. "Still… here."

"Aye," Carson said softly.

"Don't think I can… do it," John admitted, his frustration still finding its way through the haze of pain and making itself plainly known. He focused on Carson's thin smile.

"I know, John," Carson answered. "Try to relax. We'll get ye out of here."

------------------


	6. Chapter 6

_I was so pleased to see a lot of people still remembered this story and read the last chapter. :) Thank you so much for your great reviews. Looks like one or two chapters more, at least. Enjoy! _

"A what?" Elizabeth's hand cupped her radio headset as she walked up next to the control room deck. She squinted at the Gate Room as small puffs of snow occasionally crossed the event horizon and dusted the floor.

"Blizzard, ma'am," Lorne responded, his voice garbled by static. "It's packing hurricane force winds. We've got about ten minutes before the conditions will ground the Jumper."

"Can you get Colonel Sheppard out of there before then?" Elizabeth paced the length of the balcony her hand never leaving her radio.

"That's the idea, ma'am, but the Colonel isn't mobile. He has to be brought out in a rescue basket and the cave is in a pretty difficult location. It'll take some time."

"Lorne!"

Elizabeth straightened at Rodney's panicked interruption. She waited through a long moment of silence before speaking. "Jumper Two, what's your status?"

"Still here, ma'am," Lorne answered his voice strained. "Nasty downdraft made it a bit dicey for a minute there. Everything's okay now. Jorgenson is on the ground watching the Gate. I'm sending him back. The rest of us will come through with the Colonel. No disrespect intended ma'am, but I'm a little busy for conversation right now."

Elizabeth pressed her lips in a thin line and nodded. "None taken, Major. The shield is down, send Jorgenson through. We'll keep the gate open and communications active. Try to give me regular status reports. We're standing ready to assist you if needed."

"Copy that, ma'am," Lorne responded. "I'd advise against sending anyone through on foot. The gate is situated on a cliff and visibility is nearing zero. It's too risky."

Elizabeth nodded to herself. The last thing they needed was for someone to walk off the edge of a cliff. "Understood. Weir out." She slowly lowered her hand from her radio and walked back into the control room. She looked down at Chuck. "Keep the gate open."

Chuck nodded. "Yes ma'am."

------------------------------------

"Ready, Colonel?" Carson held tightly to the extended end of Sheppard's split with one hand and the bottom of his combat boot with another.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Doc," Sheppard answered.

"Aye." Carson looked first to Ronon, who slid his arms under Sheppard's and crossed his wrists over the colonel's chest, then to Harris who tipped the rescue basket slightly to more easily receive the colonel.

Carson took a deep breath. "On three." He quickly counted off before lifting simultaneously with Ronon.

Sheppard grunted loudly before squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of being moved. "Damn…"

"Easy, son," Carson gently set the colonel's legs in the basket as Ronon laid his upper body down as well. "We're done."

"I know." Sheppard's eyes remained closed a moment longer before he slowly opened them and smiled slightly at Carson. "No worries, Doc."

Carson nodded as he gently, but quickly tucked the blanket in around Sheppard.

"Lorne, it's Ronon. We're ready." Ronon grabbed a large coil of rope and started knotting it to the edges of the basket as he spoke.

"Copy… that…" Lorne's voice was clearly distracted. "Shit!"

Carson looked over his shoulder as a rain of snow mixed with rock showered past the entrance to the cave, only to continue falling down the side of the cliff. "What the hell…"

"Lorne, what's your situation?"

Carson looked back to the colonel who had weaseled one arm out from under the blanket to activate his radio. Both his voice and expression were clear. Carson pursed his lips. When it came to the safety of his people, there was no stopping Sheppard… or, apparently, his adrenal system.

"Sir, the wind threw us against the cliff. We've taken damage to the right drive pod. I can't keep her steady." 

Carson reflexively reached for Sheppard as he pushed himself up on his elbows, winced and grunted, but the colonel waved him off.

"Major, where are you?" Sheppard insisted.

"Lorne's a little busy at the moment, trying to keep us from getting killed," Rodney answered in a tense voice. "We're hovering just above the plateau. The Jumper couldn't take the cross winds with a damaged drive pod…" Rodney's voice trailed off into silence for a moment, before he continued. "I'm not sure we can get back to you."

Carson looked first at Ronon, then Harris and finally Sheppard before he slowly shook his head. "Now, wait a minute…"

"Copy that," Sheppard interrupted. The look he gave Carson was an odd cross between determination and resignation. "Get back to Atlantis while you still can. We'll ride this one out here. Come back when the weather clears."

"Wait," Rodney interrupted, "that could take days! There has to be a way. I mean we can't just… well… leave you behind."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Rodney," Sheppard's voice was slightly cynical. "But if you can't come up with a **safe** way to get us out of here in the next two seconds, then I want both your butts back through the gate."

"Sir…" Lorne started, but Sheppard wouldn't let him continue.

"That's an order, Major," Sheppard's tone hardened, "don't make me repeat it."

"Yes, sir," the frustration in Lorne's voice was clear, even over the radio. "We'll brief Dr. Weir on the situation. Lorne out."

"Great," Carson sighed. He looked up at Ronon as the Satedan grabbed Sheppard's knife and stood as much as the low ceiling would allow.

Reaching up, Ronon grabbed a hold of some of the thick vines and cut them, before letting them drop to the ground. He squatted and started breaking them into smaller pieces for the fire.

Carson looked over his shoulder as a blast of cold air hit him in the back. "We need to find a way to block that entrance at least partially. Need to keep the wind out, but still ventilate the smoke from the fire.

"I got that." Harris squirmed around behind Carson, reached in the back pocket of his TAC vest and pulled out a small, credit card sized object. Wasting no time, he shook open his survival blanket and started looking for a way to attach it to the top of the cave. "If I can get this secured, then we can brace the bottom with rocks. Good thing this cave is set back from the edge of the cliff some. Most of the wind is blowing along the side of the cliff and missing us. It's like a sweet spot."

"Entrance is south and wind's out of the north too," Ronon added.

"There, see? Not so bad," Sheppard interjected.

Carson fixed him with an annoyed but still concerned look. "Right. Bloody lucky we are." All cynicism faded from Carson as Sheppard tensed and squeezed his eyes shut. He grunted and fell back into the basket. "Colonel?"

Sheppard sucked in a deep, reflexive breath against his pain and that sparked a fierce coughing fit. He writhed, the pain from his ribs and his leg clearly swarming over him. It was a vicious cycle; the more he moved, the harder he breathed and the worse his cough was… which kept setting off both his ribs and his leg.

"Damn it," Carson muttered as he put a hand under Sheppard's head and tried to support him. "Easy son." He looked at Ronon. "Sit him up. It'll help him breathe easier."

Ronon nodded and slipped his arms under Sheppard's before lifting the colonel's upper body. Carefully, he pulled him back to the edge of the basket before leaning Sheppard's torso against his chest. Ronon held firm as Sheppard's tense body twitched against the pain, his coughs punctuated by painful grunts.

After a long minute, Sheppard sagged back against Ronon, his shallow breaths coming fast and sweat gleaming on his forehead.

Carson's jaw clenched as his gaze shifted to his backpack. The colonel needed an IV, pain meds and a score of other things that raced through Carson's mind, not the least of which was surgery to address what was becoming a complicated fracture situation. Yet, his backpack had none of the numerous things that the Colonel needed immediately. Carson sat back on his heels, and looked down at Sheppard's leg. By their nearest guess, it'd been about sixteen hours since the colonel broke it. Carson sighed. He already saw signs of complications resulting from the untended fracture. Evidence of compromised blood supply was showing in his ankle and cold foot. Left untended the colonel could have lasting damage to his lower leg that may never heal completely. Then there was the bone and the possibility of non-union…

"Doc?" Sheppard asked weakly.

Inwardly, Carson winced. Even through the pain, Sheppard had noticed his prolonged stare at the splinted leg. Digging deep inside, Carson found a small smile. "Colonel? Feeling any better, son?"

Sheppard's intense gaze never wavered. "Yeah." He glanced at his leg before looking back at Carson. "How bad?"

Carson's small smile faded into a quiet sigh. "I won't lie to ye, son. The delay in treatment could cause… complications."

"Complications?" Ronon interjected. "Like what?"

Carson looked up at Ronon for a moment before refocusing his attention on Sheppard.

"Answer the man's question, Doc," Sheppard insisted quietly. "Like what?"

Carson stared back silently. He'd known Sheppard for almost three years, and in that time, he'd never known the Colonel to back away from knowing all the facts. No matter how grim that knowledge was, Sheppard always wanted it. He always wanted to know where he stood and what the situation was, no matter what. Resigned, Carson nodded to himself. He owed Sheppard that much. "The delay in setting the fracture, and the subsequent swelling and damage could be causing compromised blood flow to your lower leg and foot. If prolonged, it could cause significant tissue damage."

Sheppard pressed his lips in a thin line and nodded slightly as he took the information in stride. "Permanent?"

Carson licked his lips. "Possibly. But," he rushed on, "I don't know anything for sure and I won't know until I get you back to Atlantis."

"What's your gut say?" Sheppard asked.

Carson furrowed his brow. "What…"

"Come on, Carson," Sheppard interrupted. "You take to doctoring, like I take to soldiering. What's your gut say?"

This time Carson's sigh was much louder. "That it's a real possibility," he admitted quietly. "I don't know. It's hard to tell without getting that bone set first and ensuring good blood supply." He looked away from Sheppard. "There could be issues with the bone too, Colonel." He continued. "The longer the fracture stays like this, the more of a chance we'll have of running into non-union issues, where the bone won't fuse at the fracture site."

"You're saying his leg won't heal?" Ronon interrupted.

"Not without significant intervention on our part… which could cause a permanent disability." Carson mustered the best reassuring expression he could find. "None of this is a certainty, Colonel. 'Tis just as likely we get back, get the fracture set and it heals perfectly.

"I know," Sheppard coughed weakly, "but thanks for giving me all the facts."

Carson stared silently back at Sheppard's sincere look before nodding once. "Aye," he answered quietly.

----------------------------

Elizabeth couldn't quite suppress the sigh of relief she let escape her as the Jumper slowly came through the gate. She tapped her radio headset. "Carson, this is Weir. How's Colonel Sheppard?"

"Ma'am," Lorne responded. "It's just McKay and I. The Doc, Ronon, Harris and the Colonel they're… not with us."

All the relief she'd felt vanished. "Major, what happened?"

"The Jumper took some damage. We couldn't maneuver back down to the cave and extract the team. Colonel Sheppard ordered us back until the weather clears."

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment before nodding. "Understood. I'll meet you in the Jumper Bay. Weir out." She turned and hurried up the stairs to the bay.

She stood in the open doorway as Lorne carefully landed the Jumper and he and McKay exited from the back. She nodded once at them. "Major, can we send a team back in another Jumper?"

Lorne slowly shook his head. "As much as I'd like to, I'd advise against it, ma'am. We're lucky the damage was minor and we were able to get back in the first place. The sheer cliff creates some nasty gusts and downdrafts. We could use the Jumper's HUD to see even with white out conditions, but the winds…" his voice trailed off.

Elizabeth looked at Rodney. "How long until the storm passes?"

"I have no idea," Rodney breezed past her and out the door.

Elizabeth glanced at Lorne before both of them followed after Rodney.

"According to the Jumper's HUD," Rodney continued as he stalked down the corridor, "the storm was massive. I need to get back to the control room, send a MALP and try to assess the conditions. The MALP sensors will probably get torn to shreds, but I might be able to get enough telemetry before that happens, to answer you."

Rodney trotted down the stairs into the control room and made a beeline for one of the consoles.

Elizabeth and Lorne followed behind, their pace slightly slower. Stopping by the balcony railing, Elizabeth braced both hands on the railing. "There's nothing we can do?"

"At the moment?" Lorne answered, "no, ma'am."


	7. Chapter 7

In spite of his best efforts to conceal it, John knew the others could hear the wheeze in each breath he took. His lungs hurt, his ribs hurt, his leg… hell his entire body was one mass of pain. But as he sat there, leaning against Ronon, he could feel how hard it was for him to breathe… and each breath was more difficult than the one before it. He swallowed hard and coughed; the pitiful, feeble sound doing nothing to comfort him… or clear his lungs any. He felt an added weight across his body and opened his eyes to see Carson throw an emergency blanket over the thick one that already covered him. Shivering chills rattled his teeth but he knew they'd pass. In a minute, he'd be sweating as his body succumbed to fever.

"Damn it," Carson muttered, as he tucked the blanket around John's shoulders. "We shouldn't have done this."

"No," John croaked before he cleared his throat, "but we didn't have much choice. Lorne would've crashed that thing if he'd tried to come back down here." John winced in pain – he'd stopped trying to figure out where his pain was coming from – and continued. "Believe me, Doc I'd rather be back on Atlantis, but not at the expense of Lorne, McKay or any of you." He blinked hard and stared at Carson, trying to look as resolute as possible.

Resigned, Carson's shoulders sagged slightly and he nodded. "Aye," he answered softly. He grabbed one of three canteens sitting next to the fire and scooted closer to John. "Drink, Colonel. Ye need it."

John nodded and lifted his head. He felt immediate cold air on the back of his neck and he turned slightly to look at Ronon out of the corner of his eye. "Don't you ever get cold?"

Ronon cocked his head so John could see him better. His eyes crinkled in amusement. "Hot blooded."

In spite of the situation, John chuckled slightly, earning himself a painful protest from his ribs and a couple coughs, but the slight lift to his spirit was worth it. "Bet the girls love it…" He held onto his smile as he felt Ronon's chortle against his back.

John reached out with a shaky hand and took the canteen. As he lifted it, he felt Carson's hand cover his to help him and momentarily he was irritated at how weak he was. But that passed as the small sip of cool water rushed down his sore throat. He pushed the canteen away from his face, only to meet resistance from Carson's grip.

"Take another, son," Carson insisted.

John briefly contemplated arguing the point; there were four of them and water was limited, but the determined look on Carson's face killed any protest he had. Nodding, John took another sip. Swallowing, he leaned back against Ronon. "You know, big guy," John craned his head slightly to look up at Ronon's face, "you don't have to hold me up here."

Ronon's neutral expression never changed. "Yep," he answered after a moment. "I know."

John cracked a small smile and looked away. "You're softer than a cave wall… but not much," he quipped, holding his smile as Ronon just grunted in response.

John's smile faded as his mind fixed on a question… one he needed to ask. He looked back at Carson. "Doc… Teyla?"

A small but reassuring smile creased Carson's expression. "She's all right, Colonel. Came through surgery with flying colors. She's going to be fine."

John smiled again, although slightly and nodded. He didn't say anything, but was sure the gratitude on his face said everything. He looked past Carson at the makeshift tent flap Harris had constructed. He stared at it a moment, before his gaze moved left and fixed on the young soldier. "Sergeant? How ya doin?" He pursed his lips slightly. Harris looked worried… and was young enough that he couldn't quiet mask it with a soldier's stoicism, although he seemed to be trying pretty hard to do it anyways.

"Just fine, sir."

From somewhere inside John scraped together some confidence and let it permeate his expression. "I'm sure I look worse than I am, Sergeant."

Harris' smile was small and unconvinced. "Yes, sir."

John nodded back and started to speak, but the words were strangled in his throat as an unbearable shock of pain shot up his leg. Whatever words he'd been meaning to say, morphed into a harsh cry of pain. Dimly, he could feel Ronon's grip tighten on his arms as his body thrashed, in spite of his best effort to control it. The pain, which had become a constant and even at times dull, companion, shot to life in his body the intensity reaching far past anything he'd experienced since he'd been injured. "Car…son…" he choked, the fingers of his left hand twisting into the material of Carson's coat.

"What the hell?"

Ronon's concerned question reverberated against John as he writhed, his entire body at the mercy of great spikes of pain that shot through him. He could've sworn someone was sawing off his leg, even though, in the small recesses of his mind that still were capable of rational thought, he knew it wasn't true.

He started coughing, the crap in his lungs shifting… drowning him in response to the great heaving breaths he tried to take. His ribs added their voice, quiet in comparison, to the clatter of pain that raced through him. Holding tight to Carson's coat, John doubled over, helpless to the onslaught of pain and suffocating lack of oxygen that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't stop coughing, no matter how much his oxygen starved lungs screamed for air. Blackness crept in on the edges of his vision but in a brief second of respite, he managed to snatch a small breath, before falling into another coughing fit that petered out into pitiful wheeze. His mind drifted… succumbing to the ravages of injury. There was something he needed to do… something… important, but as blackness intruded further into his mind, he felt his body start shutting down.

"Damn it!"

On the heels of Carson's exclamation, John felt the doctor's hands on his shoulders.

"Colonel… John! Breathe son!"

A stark moment of clarity overcame him and John forced himself to inhale… to push back against the tidal wave of pain that was drowning him. He wheezed, his lungs hungrily grabbing what little air he was able to give them.

"Again! Now!"

John felt the doctor shake him hard and a part of him… the part he always pulled on when he needed strength, when he refused to give up… when he needed to survive, quickly and utterly took over. He clenched his teeth and struggled to inhale, fighting back against everything that was trying to overcome him. He held tightly to his strength… the one last tether securing him to consciousness, opened his mouth and pulled in a loud, labored breath, forcing his lungs to take as much air as they could. Instantly, he felt a flush of blood race through him, delivering precious oxygen to his starving body. He inhaled again and again, his body greedy for all the air he could get.

The blackness in his vision retreated and he slowly looked up at Carson's intense stare. Panting, he fell back against Ronon who supported him without hesitation.

"God," Carson breathed, "ye scared the crap out of me, son."

Not really capable of talking, John settled for a small nod.

"What the hell happened?" Ronon demanded.

The silence got John's attention and he opened his eyes to stare at Carson's serious look. "Doc?" he croaked.

"It's your leg." Carson answered quietly. "The pneumonia isn't helping either. The sooner we can get ye back to Atlantis, the better."

As if it was an omen, a gust of wind ruffled the Mylar blanket that blocked the cave entrance. John stared at it a moment, before looking back to Carson. His eyelids felt heavy, his recent bout of pain draining strength from him. John let them fall shut and succumbed to unconsciousness.

--------------------

"Rodney, tell me you have good news." Elizabeth crossed the small walkway from her office to the control room and stood next to Rodney's console.

Rodney stood, turned and focused his attention on the console behind him. "It's not as bad as it could be. Does that count?"

"I'll take anything right now," Elizabeth took two steps to her right to stand next to him again. "What's going on?"

"I've managed to analyze the data the MALP sent back before the sensors folded." Rodney tapped a couple keys and the large display in front of Elizabeth sparked to life, showing a radar image of a massive storm.

She shook her head at the sight. "It's huge. I don't see how this qualifies as good news."

"On the contrary," Rodney tapped another key and instantly a small red dot started blinking at the very fringe of the storm. "That's Sheppard and the others. They're on the southern edge of the storm which is moving northeast. Another hour or so and the conditions should settle enough to send a Jumper through."

"Should?" Elizabeth questioned.

"It's weather forecasting, which is, actually, more voodoo then medicine. I can't be sure, but all indications are that it's moving off their position pretty fast. After four hours of studying this data, I think I have a pretty good idea what's going on."

Elizabeth nodded and looked past Rodney to see Lorne trot up the stairs and hurry over to them.

"Can we go back yet?" Lorne stared for a minute at the display before looking at Elizabeth.

She sighed. "Almost. Get your team together. Talk to Doctor Cole and see what supplies she recommends to be sent through."

"Yes ma'am. We still have the medical kit Beckett had ready in the Jumper for the Colonel, but I'll check with Cole. When can we go?"

"Another hour," Rodney answered.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Rodney, send another MALP. I want to know the instant the winds have died down enough for Lorne to fly safely. Once the MALP is through, try to establish radio communication with our people."

Rodney turned back to his console. "Right. I wouldn't count on the radios working; they haven't had too much success against this storm so far."

Elizabeth sighed. "I know. Just try." She looked back to Lorne. "Major, have your team on standby. As soon as it's safe, you have a go."

Lorne nodded once, curtly. "Yes, ma'am." He turned and trotted down the back steps from the control room.

Elizabeth slowly walked over to the railing and looked down as a MALP slowly crossed the event horizon. "Hang on," she muttered.

-----------------------------

"Doc," John forced his eyes open and focused on Carson.

"Aye, what is it son?" Carson scooted closer and looked down at him.

"Just set the damn bone," John clenched his teeth. "It can't hurt as much as that last bout."

Carson shook his head. "No."

"Doc, if it's causing damage…" John started but the doctor cut him off.

"No! I'm not going to do it and that's the end of it. I'm not inflicting that kind of pain on you with no medication to counter it. I don't care how high a threshold for pain ye have, I seriously doubt you could take it right now. Besides, even if I wanted to try, I doubt I could get it set anyway." Carson's voice lowered. "All that edema, tense muscles... no, ye need to be anesthetized and your body totally relaxed. Period."

John squeezed his eyes shut and grunted as another, regular jab of pain shot up from his leg. He coughed weakly and nodded. "Damn it," he managed.

"Aye, I couldn't agree more," Carson muttered as he gently squeezed John's shoulder. "Just take it easy, son. We'll get ye through this."

"How long has it been?" John questioned as he opened his eyes.

Carson looked down at his watch. "About four hours, maybe a wee bit more."

"Right." John closed his eyes again. It seemed like an eternity and he knew it could be another eternity before Elizabeth could send any help. _If I last that long… _He grimaced and threw off the thought. Wrapped in his own pain and bolstering his spirit to ride it out, John almost didn't hear his radio come to life. Elizabeth's words were faint, almost like a dream, but he knew it wasn't when Carson and the others reacted instantly.

"Carson… Elizabeth… copy?"

Carson smacked his headset. "Elizabeth. You're breaking up. Can ye hear me?"

"Carson…y… Lorne… team… coming."

"Storm passing?" Ronon wondered aloud.

John opened his eyes just in time to see Harris pull back one edge of the makeshift tent cover and nod.

"Winds are dying down," Harris looked back, made eye contact with John and smiled.

In spite of his pain, John found a way to return the gesture, though feebly.

"Have him get a move on it," Carson ordered. "The colonel needs immediate medical attention."

John stared hard at the intense look on Carson's face. In his gut, he knew the intensity didn't bode well for him, but he already knew he was seriously screwed up this time. Pain, again, shot through him, this time catching him off guard. A hoarse shout was ripped from his throat before he even had a chance to suppress it.

Carson's attention immediately returned to John. "Colonel? Easy son."

Tension… pain… tension again. The two traded blows, each pummeling his body. John beat one fist into the ground as another sharp grunt escaped him.

"Do something!"

John wanted to reassure Ronon that he was okay, but the only sound that came from his mouth, was a strangled cry.

--------------------------

"Move… it… colonel… medical attention."

Elizabeth looked up, as if staring at the ceiling would make Carson's words any clearer. "Carson, we barely read you." She shook her head. "Carson?" Elizabeth looked at Rodney. "What are the conditions?"

Rodney stared at his laptop. "Barely safe enough for the Jumper…"

Elizabeth reached down and slapped the Ancient communications panel. "Lorne, the conditions are still dicey but Rodney thinks it's almost safe enough to…" her voice trailed off as a strangled cry echoed over her headset. She squeezed her eyes shut. The cry was familiar. The last time she'd heard it, an Iratus Bug was trying to suck the life out of John and then, she'd prayed that she'd never hear it again. Elizabeth looked up at Rodney who paled before turning and racing for the back stairs to the Jumper Bay. The entire conversation was on VOX so anyone on the command channel could hear it, Rodney and Lorne included.

"I'm going, now! Tell Lorne I'm on my way!" Rodney threw the shout back over his shoulder.

"Major, Rodney is on his way to you right now. You have a go." Elizabeth leaned heavy on one of the Ancient control panels. After a minute, Lorne responded.

"Ma'am, he's here. Clear the Gate room," Lorne demanded. "We're going. Now."

Elizabeth swallowed hard and found her voice. "Understood. Gate Room is already clear." She looked up as the ceiling door opened and the Jumper slowly descended until it was level with the active Stargate. As it disappeared through the event horizon, Elizabeth cupped her hand over her radio. "Carson, Lorne and his team are on the way." She waited a tense moment, listening for a response that never came. "Carson? Please answer."

----------------------

Carson supported John's head as the colonel writhed in pain. His gaze fixed on the bluish tinge Sheppard's lips and the dusky complexion that made him look half dead. A part of Carson thought that wasn't far from the truth, but he immediately dismissed it. The colonel's condition was serious, even grave, but Carson wasn't about to give up on him. Not by a long shot. "Colonel? Look at me, son." Glassy, hazel eyes fixed on Carson's blue ones and the doctor smiled slightly. "Just hang in there, John. Lorne and his team are on their way now." Sheppard's gaze held his for a moment, before consciousness fled and his eyes closed.

"Probably for the best," Carson muttered as he reassured himself with the rapid tattoo of Sheppard's carotid pulse.

"Carson… answer…" Weir's broken voice came over the radio.

"Beckett here. I'm a little busy at the moment, Elizabeth," he tried not to be too snappy but, at the moment, really didn't have any energy to spare for niceties.

"Understood. Lorne… team… way… now."

As if called, Elizabeth's broken message was replaced by Rodney's clear voice. "Carson, its Rodney. Respond."

"I hear ye, Rodney," Carson immediately answered. "Get down here now. We need to get the colonel back to Atlantis immediately."

"Working on it now, Doc," Lorne answered. "Still a bit choppy up here, but we should be able to get close enough to lower the back hatch so you can walk right in."

"Well, whatever you're going to do, do it quick, son," Carson moved to the bottom of the rescue basket and gently grabbed Sheppard's legs. He lifted and pulled as Ronon lifted as well and they gently laid the colonel flat in the basket. Carson scooted back up next to Sheppard and grabbed his wrist.

"Doc?" Ronon asked quietly.

Carson spared the Satedean a short glance. "He's in a bad way." He held Ronon's gaze until the big man nodded and looked down at his friend. Carson turned. "Harris, get that blanket down and clear the rocks from the entrance so we don't trip over them on our way out."

Harris jumped to his feet. "You got it, Doc."

"Lorne, I'm assuming you have medical supplies on board?" Carson laid Sheppard's arm in the basket and pulled the blankets up to the colonel's neck.

"Sure do, Doc," Lorne reassured. "Doctor Cole made us a pack for you."

"Good lad," Carson muttered as he turned and watched the Jumper slowly back towards them, the rear hatch lowering as they moved.

Harris and Carson took the sides of Sheppard's rescue basket, while Ronon took the head as the slowly made their way out of the cave. It was slow and difficult going; they couldn't stand tall enough to really carry him, but at last they exited and slowly crossed the ramp into the back of the Jumper.

Carson reached for the large backpack sitting on one of the benches as Ronon smacked the hatch release and the door slowly started closing.

"Lorne, go!" Ronon demanded.

"Oh God," Rodney turned and stared down at Sheppard. "Is he…"

"He's alive," Carson's reply was snappy as he tossed a blanket to Harris before turning his attention back to his patient. He cut the sleeve of Sheppard's coat and exposed his arm while Harris shook open the blanket and tucked it around the colonel's body. Quickly, Carson disinfected a large patch on Sheppard's arm and started an IV, which he ran wide open. He rummaged around in the pack again and pulled out a small padded case full of preloaded and clearly labeled syringes. "Bless ye, Cole," he muttered as he pulled out three of them and quickly injected them into the colonel.

"Hold on," Lorne announced as he turned the Jumper towards the Stargate. "Atlantis this is Jumper three. We're on our way back with Colonel Sheppard. Sending IDC now."

"Copy that," Weir responded. "The shield is down. Come home."

Inwardly, Carson spared a small sigh of relief before refocusing himself entirely on his patient. "Elizabeth, its Carson. I want the infirmary on full alert and the OR on standby. Page Doctor Peterson as well. I want an orthopedic surgeon in on this."

"Will do, Carson," Elizabeth answered. "How is he?"

"He's alive," Carson replied with a sigh. "That's all I can tell ye now."

-------------------------------


	8. Chapter 8

_Well, here we are with the last chapter. Believe it or not, I have my next "whump type" story laid out in my head already. ;) It's been an idea I've been kicking around for a long time and have finally decided to write it. The downside is it's complicated and therefore I'm not certain I can write one chapter at a time and post it. I'll probably have to write at least a significant chunk of the story before I even consider starting to post it. Sorry 'bout that! ;) I hope the story will be worth the wait._

_Thanks so much for sticking with me through some kind of long update delays on this story. I really hope you enjoyed it! Thanks so much to everyone for the kind and encouraging reviews. I remain completely flattered by your comments:) Hope this chapter has a little bit of what everyone is looking for, for the end of a whump story :)…_

_-------------------------------_

It took everything Elizabeth had not to run, as she swiftly made her way down the long corridors towards the infirmary. Halfway there, she met up with the team escorting John's stretcher down the hallway, following behind Sergeant Harris and Ronon, who gruffly cleared a path through the onlookers. She caught up with Carson and kept pace with him as he walked briskly alongside John's stretcher.

Looking down, Elizabeth got her first look at John and a part of her wished she hadn't. Eyes closed, he was deathly white. Faint hints of moisture lined the oxygen mask over his face; the only indication that he was even alive. Elizabeth glanced up. "Carson?"

"He's not good, Elizabeth," Carson answered tersely. "That's all I know right now."

A quiet groan grabbed Elizabeth's attention and she looked back down, meeting John's glazed expression. Elizabeth pulled on all the strength she had and plastered a reassuring look on her face. "You're home, John. You're going to be fine now."

"Still suck… at bedside manner… Elizabeth."

John's words were slurred and quiet but Elizabeth still understood him. At a loss as to what to say, she settled for a small nod as she gently curled her fingers around his. "John I…" her voice trailed off as he tensed, his hand tightening around hers as a loud grunt and horse cry escaped him. She held tight to his hand as he writhed. "John!"

"For God's sake, can't you give him something?" Rodney demanded loudly as he shot an accusatory look at Carson.

"I did," Carson's voice was tight and his expression stony. "I can't risk any more until we know the full extent of his injuries."

Elizabeth returned John's grip with a firm one of her own as his pants turned into coughs. She inhaled sharply as his expression turned panicked and fixed on hers before his eyes rolled back in his head and his strong hand turned limp in hers. "Carson!"

"Bloody hell!" Carson all but ripped the oxygen mask off John's face and replaced it with an ambu bag as they rounded the last corner and burst into the infirmary.

Elizabeth forced herself to let go of his hand and step back out of the way, as a medical team swarmed the stretcher. Without looking, she felt Rodney, Lorne and Ronon close by, but she couldn't tear her gaze from the tight mass of bodies working feverishly to save John.

------------------------------

Carson stared for a moment at the intubation tube he'd just placed to breathe for the colonel, before listening intently to his chest. In spite of the significant congestion he heard, the ventilation was as good as it could be. He nodded once, tersely, at the medic who was hand ventilating John. "Good. Hook him up." Carson turned his attention to his chief medic, Carolyn Lansing. "Carolyn," he pointed the bandaged thigh. "cut that away, clean it up and see how it looks." He glanced at Dr. Cole. "Let's get him on broad spectrum antibiotics. I want to start combating that pneumonia. Besides, it's a good proactive treatment for the wound, and for any complications from his leg."

Cole nodded in agreement and immediately set to the task.

Carson turned his attention to Dr. Peterson, who was closely examining John's broken bone and lower leg. "Tom?" Carson edged over next to the orthopedic surgeon.

Peterson sighed, his expression grim. "I've seen worse," he said quietly, "but it's still a mess." He gently pushed on the side of John's ankle. "There's a hell of a lot of tension here. I'm concerned about compartmental pressure. We're going to need to alleviate that and get that bone set. Then we'll see where we are." Peterson looked up at Carson. "The sooner the better."

"Aye," Carson agreed. "We'll monitor his condition as we prep him for surgery. I want to make sure he's stable before we do anything, but I agree. We need to get him into the OR as soon as possible." Carson glanced back at his team. "Dr. Peterson and I are going to scrub. Get him prepped for surgery."

As the team started cutting away the rest of John's clothes and started prepping him, Carson took a moment to look down at the colonel's unconscious face. "Hang in there, son," he said softly, hoping somehow his words would reach John. "We'll get ye fixed up… promise."

-------------------------------

She'd never realized, until today, just how intricate the artwork on each of Atlantis' doors was. But, as the door to the OR stayed closed from one hour to the next, she became more familiar with that artwork then she ever wanted to be.

Elizabeth finally tore her eyes from the door and walked across the infirmary, stopping next to a bed on the other side. She looked down and smiled at Teyla. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," Teyla responded as she shifted slightly in her bed before wincing. "However," she admitted, "it will be a while longer before I am completely healed."

Elizabeth pressed her lips into a thin smile. "Take your time." Her smile faded as her gaze drifted back to the door to the OR.

"There is no word?"

Teyla's quiet voice grabbed Elizabeth's attention. "No. Not yet."

"His condition is grave, is it not?" Teyla asked quietly.

Elizabeth inhaled deeply and nodded. "Yes. Pneumonia, a severely broken leg… both could…" her voice trailed off.

"He is strong," Teyla reassured quietly. "He will come through this, and we will help him."

Elizabeth couldn't find it within herself to agree, so she settled for silence.

"Elizabeth," Teyla insisted gently. "Have faith in his strength and in Carson's skill. Neither will fail him."

Nodding silently, Elizabeth again looked back at Teyla. "I hope so."

-----------------------

Carson pulled the scrub cap from his head and ran his fingers through his damp hair before his gaze settled on Sheppard's bed on the other side of the recovery room. Slowly, he walked over to stand next to Doctor Peterson. Carson looked down at John. Intubated, the colonel was still unconscious from anesthesia, but he also would soon be receiving drugs to keep him that way and paralyzed; both making the intubation forced breathing easier. Two IV bags hung over John's head, one straight IV fluids and the other fluids laced with antibiotics. Fever inspired sweat beaded on John's forehead, something Carson hoped the antibiotics would help. His gaze drifted down the colonel's body. Two broken ribs. Luckily, they hadn't inflicted any further damage and would heal without complication, although the colonel would be sore for quite a while. The gash on his thigh had been debrided as best as possible, but was too old for stitches. It'd heal, but John would carry a scar there for the rest of his life.

At last, Carson's gaze settled on the immobilized leg. A cast would come later; when the incisions they'd made to relive compartmental pressure had healed sufficiently. The fracture reduction had been tough, but they'd managed to align the bone to restore full blood flow to the colonel's lower leg and to allow for the bone to hopefully fuse and heal. The verdict was still out on that, as it was for the possibility of tissue damage from compromised blood flow. Carson glanced at Peterson. "What do you think, Tom?"

Peterson sighed deeply. "I don't know, Carson. Twenty hours is a long time to delay a reduction. We won't know if the bone is fusing for at least a week, probably longer. As for tissue damage, we'll have to wait for the anti-inflammatory drugs to kick in and for it to be safe to allow Colonel Sheppard to wake up. If he can move his foot sufficiently; given the fracture location I'd settle for him moving his toes, we'll have our answer."

Carson nodded in agreement. Tom Peterson was one of the world's foremost orthopedic surgeons. If Peterson was cautious, then there was a reason to be. "Aye. That'll be at least a few days. Until he starts responding to the antibiotics and his lung condition improves, I'm keeping him unconscious and intubated."

"Agreed," Peterson said quietly.

Carson looked towards the exit door. "I suspect there are a few people out there waiting for some answers. I best get to it."

"Need some help?" Peterson looked up at Carson.

"No, I'll do it. Thanks." Carson flashed a brief smile at the surgeon before turning and heading out of the OR wing.

------------------------

Being like this was wrong.

He pushed against the blackness and fought his way towards the light. Slowly, he became aware of the world around him. The quiet hum of machines, murmur of voices… the antiseptic smell that could only be the infirmary. There was no dirt under his hands. The hard cave wall was replaced by a soft, warm pillow…

He was warm.

He pulled in a sweet breath of air. A faint twinge from his ribs grabbed his attention for a moment, but faded almost immediately. Carefully, he opened his eyes, squinting at the light. His throat was sore but again, the pain was muted, dull… hardly worth noticing.

John slowly turned his head slightly, his gaze fixing on a tumble of dark brown and curly hair flowing over the blankets next to his leg.

_Elizabeth…_ He knew the words had formed on his lips, but was also equally sure no sound ever escaped his mouth. His hand was warm and it was at that moment that he felt her limp fingers circling his. He blinked lazily and a hint of a smile played over his lips. He slowly turned his hand, the small movement monumental for his weak body, and gently squeezed her fingers. "lizabeth…" he whispered.

Elizabeth abruptly lifted her head and inhaled sharply, before she looked down at his hand, her eyes widening. Her gaze met his and she smiled tentatively, almost not believing. "John?"

He tried to find a matching smile, but knew the effort fell short. Still, he could see the relief in her eyes. "…here…" he managed. As her fingers again tightened around his, he finally managed a weak smile.

"Good to see," she said softly, before pushing back from the bed and standing. "Let me find Carson, I won't be long." Giving his hand one, last, squeeze, she let go and swiftly pulled back the privacy curtain.

John pulled in another breath, deeper this time, and coughed weakly. He wrinkled his nose, the feel of the nasal canula strange to him as his senses continued to awaken. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weakness in his body urging him to surrender to sleep, before a rustling around the privacy curtain forced him to open them again. He tried another small smile, this time succeeding the first time, as Carson walked up next to his bed, along with another doctor… Peterson, if John remembered correctly.

Carson's expression was warm. "How ye feeling, son?"

John swallowed. "Weak," he whispered.

"Aye," Carson nodded. "You didn't expect to jump out of bed as soon as you woke up, did ye?"

"Was hopin' so…" A part of John was surprised at how hoarse and feeble his voice sounded. "Elizabeth…?"

Carson's gaze narrowed slightly. "Trust me, none of them are that far away. The whole caboodle of them are waiting outside. I ordered them to stay out there so Dr. Peterson and I could evaluate your condition." He sighed. "Elizabeth wasn't supposed to be here anyway. I **had** sent her to bed." He shook his head.

John nodded. "How long?"

Carson sighed. "Five days. Three of which you were intubated and we kept you unconscious for that."

"Doesn't feel like five days," John commented absently.

"Felt like five hundred to the rest of us." Carson's rebuke was soft.

"Sorry," John managed, feeling a twinge of guilt as he noticed the weary lines around Carson's eyes.

The reflective, serious look on Carson's face disappeared behind a gentle, dimpled smile. "Don't be. Just glad to see you awake and on the mend."

_Mend…_ John's mind centered on his leg. It felt constricted and suddenly, his memories were triggered. John's small smile faded. "Leg?" His gaze drifted past Carson to Peterson who walked around to the foot of his bed.

"We're about to find out, Colonel," Peterson answered with a thin smile. He pulled back the blanket covering John's feet.

John stared at his toes, and the immobilizing split that surrounded and supported his leg. "No cast?" he rasped before looking back at Carson.

"Not yet, no," Carson answered. "You had significant pressure build up from the trauma and swelling," he explained, "we had to make several incisions to relieve it. You'll get a cast when they've healed enough to stand it."

"Colonel," Peterson caught John's attention again. "I need you to move your toes. Move as much of your foot as you can without causing too much pain, but don't move your lower leg at all and don't flex your knee."

John pulled in an uneven breath and wriggled his toes before moving his ankle. A sharp jab of pain made him hiss, but as quickly as it hit him, it disappeared.

Peterson lifted his hand. "All right, that's enough. Don't push it." He smiled. "That's a good sign, Colonel. Very encouraging."

John coughed weakly and cleared his throat. "Pain's not bad," he muttered as he tried to turn away from the memories that found him. Unbearable pain stealing his breath…

Carson must've seen the shadow of memory in his face because the next thing John knew, a kind and reassuring grip tightened on his shoulder.

John forced the dark shadow to clear from his expression and smiled slightly at Carson. "Happy drugs…"

Carson returned the smile. "Aye, and a healthy dose at that."

John held his gaze. "Thanks, Carson." After a long moment, he shifted his gaze to Peterson, who was tucking the blanket back around John's feet. "You too, Doc."

Peterson paused. "We're not done yet, not by a long shot but… you're welcome." He nodded once at John and then quietly left.

John blinked hard before forcing his eyelids open again, but the effort wasn't lost on Carson.

"Don't fight it," Carson chastised lightly. "Get some sleep. They all can wait to bug you later."

Again, John blinked. Keeping his eyes open was rapidly turning into a significant fight… and one he suspected he was going to lose. His vision was blurry, but he still saw Carson look at his watch and then the medical charts, before walking over to the small table next to John's IV and pulling up a syringe full of medication. "Happy drugs…" John slurred.

Carson's smile widened slightly. "Aye," he answered with a quirk of his eyebrows. He nodded his head at John's increasingly drowsy expression. "You're going to lose that battle son, so stop fighting it." He looked down and injected the medication into the IV port on John's arm.

Warmth was the last thing John felt before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

--------------------------

He felt as weak as… well… as a newborn kitten. That abruptly turned to irritation at himself first, for thinking of such a cliché and second because it aptly fit his condition… he decided the second reason was far more infuriating. His leg didn't want to support him, his arms didn't either. Hell, his whole body protested and he felt betrayed. "Damn it." He looked up and stared at Carson's expression; a weird cross between exasperation and understanding.

Carson's grip on his arm tightened. "Did ye expect this to be easy?"

"I expected to be able to at least stand on my one, mostly healed leg," John shot back more pissed at himself then Carson. He sighed. "Sorry."

"Aye, I know," Carson responded before placing a crutch under each of John's arms. "Know how to use these?"

"Unfortunately, yes," John answered as he grabbed onto the grips of each crutch.

"Good," Carson smiled. He took a step back but still kept a hand on John's arm. "You need to get up and move around not only to help clear your lungs but to keep some tone in your muscles. You're going to be a long time healing. The rest of your body needs the exercise."

"But I am going to heal?" John asked. He knew the answer but for some reason, needed to hear it again.

"Aye," Carson reassured. "The scan this morning proved it. Your bone is healing, Colonel and so is the rest of your leg. It's going to take a while and a lot of therapy, but you're going to be fine."

John nodded as he lifted the crutches and shifted his weight forward. The large cast on his left leg was cumbersome and heavy but he adapted fast enough. His right leg was stiff, especially his thigh where the arrow wound was still healing, but it was a good stiffness, one that hurt but still felt good to work through. Part of John turned cynical. He knew he'd beat himself up too many times when he started to be able to tell the difference between "good" pain and "bad" pain. He took another step and stopped, feeling more than seeing Carson nearby, hovering like some mother hen. John's brows quirked. Given how weak he felt, Carson's protectiveness might not be a bad thing.

John looked up, watching as the door opened to admit Ronon, Teyla and Rodney. "Hi guys," he smiled.

"Hi yourself," Rodney answered. "Should you be out of bed?"

"Considering Carson is right here with me, I'd say yes, I should," John replied in a deadpan voice, amusement creeping into him at Rodney's decidedly uncomfortable look.

"Yes, well… good point." Rodney shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Ronon walked up next to John and took a position opposite of Carson. "Good to see you up," he smiled slightly.

John returned the expression. "Good to be up," he inhaled sharply as he wobbled slightly before regaining his balance. "I think…" He looked down, arching an eyebrow at Ronon's hand which was wrapped firmly around his bicep.

"Only a little more, Colonel, then back to bed," Carson insisted.

John looked away from Ronon, spotting Teyla who stood a short distance away. His gaze narrowed. She had a stiffness about her normally graceful bearing; the product of her own ordeal and healing he suspected. Gone was the midriff shirt in favor of a waist length long sleeved one, presumably, hiding the light bandage she still wore over her healing wound. John slowly crutched his way over to her.

Stopping in front of Teyla he looked down at her and smiled. "Good to see you up and about too."

Teyla's lips parted into a broad grin. "Yes, it is good to be on my feet again. Carson has cleared me for light duty as long as I don't over exert myself."

"Aye, and I'm watching you closely, lass," Carson added, the warning tone in his voice still light.

John nodded. "Looks like we're both out of commission for a while yet."

"Yeah, well I think Teyla will be back to kicking alien ass before you are," Rodney interjected. "Unless you plan to club attacking Wraith with your crutches."

Never taking his gaze from Teyla, John arched a mischievous eyebrow before swinging his crutch and whacking Rodney in the shin. "Like that?"

"Ow!" Rodney jumped back and glared. "What the hell was that for?"

Not having the crutch right under him wrecked havoc on John's balance, but Ronon immediately steadied him. John turned his impish look to Rodney. "You're kidding right? After three years here, you had that coming in spades, McKay."

Rodney's annoyance intensified. "Fine. See if I come visit you again." He abruptly turned and stalked out of the infirmary.

John quirked his brows. "He'll be back."

"Aye and you'll be in bed," Carson pulled slightly on John's arm. "Come on, back to bed with ye."

John's protest died on his lips as he felt both Carson and Ronon pull carefully, but insistently on his arms helping him turn and crutch back to his bed. He'd never admit it, but he felt relieved and bone tired when he finally laid down and settled back against the pillows. He was tired, but it was a good tired; a healing tired. Each day he knew he'd get stronger. He'd come this far and he wouldn't give up now. "Enjoy the time off while you have it, you two," he said quietly as his eyelids grew heavy. "Before you know it, we'll be chasing the bad guys again." John let his eyes slowly close.

"We better be."

As sleep crept over John, he tried to decide if Ronon was agreeing or threatening him. But, as sleep finally took hold of him, he decided it really didn't matter. He was just content to hear it.

The End:)


End file.
